


Coming Home

by Shells19



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Frigga is a saint, Integration back in life in Asgard, Loki has PTSD, Loki needs his big brother, Past Torture, Thor loves his baby brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shells19/pseuds/Shells19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            The muzzle silencing Loki and the chains binding him were all an act, basically there to humour the mortals into thinking that he was contained. Thor knew different, as did Loki, but neither did anything to prove that otherwise. Their departure from Central Park was quick and before either knew it, they were standing on the broken remains of the Bifrost. Weakened by the fight – and from such a beating that was delivered by the mindless beast that makes play he’s still a man – Loki stumbled before he was able to catch his footing, aided by Thor. “Brother, are you all right?” He asked concern in his voice. His grip on Loki was strong, but gentle, and he did not release him even after he was balanced – the sentimental fool.

            Loki started to speak, obviously to tell Thor that he was all right and to get his hands off of him, but his words were muffled off by the muzzle. Shooting a glare in his direction, Loki had to wait a good five seconds before the oaf realised that in order for him to talk, the muzzle needed to go. And after Thor let out an ‘ _oh_ ’ of recognition, the muzzle was removed. The shackles soon followed and they were off towards the Palace. There were no guards waiting for them when they arrived back in Asgard, no horses or assembly to watch Loki’s walk of shame to the dungeons. It was only Thor, and as they quickly made their way down the Rainbow Bridge, he soon found that Thor was supporting almost all of his weight, his body weakened, drained completely of energy, and he was surprised that he had yet to collapse out of sheer exhaustion. Then again, he really wasn’t – Loki was never one to show weakness and, if he did, then he was really too tired to hide it. Now was one of those times. Right arm wrapped around Loki’s waist, Thor’s left was hanging onto Loki’s arm, keeping him from sagging, and he fought to keep from shrugging out of his grip, because he didn’t want to think about how he needed Thor’s help, his strength to keep him standing. The walk alone was getting to Loki and he was panting, beads of sweat dotting his face and neck.

            When they finally reached the Palace, there were no guards standing outside, no patrol walking around the perimeter on the outside nor were there any walking around the halls. It made it much easier for Thor to lead him straight to the King and Queen’s wing of the Palace. The doors opened on their own when they neared and they soon found themselves standing in a spacious common room. Lost to his ailments, Loki did not realise until he was yanked to a stop that they had finally reached their destination. Thor had released him and then barely caught him before he could fall to the stone floor. He clung to Thor’s arm for only a moment before he caught himself and soon pulled free with a snarl. He needed to get it together, to pull himself from the haze he found himself in. He was not weak and he would not let them take advantage of him in his moment of uncertainty. He shot Thor a heated look before he turned his attention to the room they were standing in. Loki recognised it easily and could recall a long time ago how often he and Thor visited and played with their mother and father. It was hard to believe how much had happened, how much they had changed in that time.

            The sound of light footsteps was heard from the other room and they turned their heads in that direction. Soon enough, Frigga came through, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Thor and Loki. It didn’t take long before tears formed, brimming at the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, having already made her way to Loki before another set of steps met their ears, coming much faster. Odin was in the room and at Loki before he had the chance to blink. A hand was wrapped around his arm, pulling him past Thor, past Frigga, and into their bedroom. “Lay down, son,” He ordered, his voice frantic as he pushed Loki onto the large bed, his one eye – as blue and as clear and sparkling as Thor’s – searching every inch of him as though looking for an injury. But Loki wouldn’t believe that he cared, because he was not Odin’s son, wasn’t his blood or his family. He was merely a stolen relic with no use.

            “Oh, Odin, do not do this now!” Frigga said as she followed after them, her voice almost as frantic and as anxious as the AllFather’s. She was wringing her hands, her gaze unable to look away from Loki. She appeared as though she wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in her arms and hold him like she did when he was a child. But times had changed, and Frigga knew that Loki would never allow that. His pride and his pain would never allow her to embrace him like a child. “We just got him back!”

            “What is going on, father?” Thor demanded. He seemed conflicted, like he did not know how to feel. He was taking in the serious look on the AllFather’s face and the worried one on Frigga’s. Something was going on, something that they weren’t telling him and it agitated him – Loki could see that – and made his heart race out of anger and of fear. “You said to bring him to your chambers urgently when we returned, but you did not say why. For what purpose –”

            Loki did not know what was going on, but he did not like it. He blamed his stilled tongue on the fatigue and the pain that was wracking through his body; otherwise, he would have been demanding answers right alongside Thor. And that alone was shocking, because he and Thor had nothing in common, had no shared interests or concerns. They were two completely different people who were now strangers to one another. Sitting up from where his father had pushed him down onto the bed, Loki had only just opened his mouth to demand some sort of explanation before Odin was pressing down on his shoulder, making him fall right back to the soft mattress.

            “– There is no time,” The AllFather said before placing his hand on Loki’s head.

            And Loki was soon lost in pain as the darkness surrounded him, taking him _down, down, down_.

-x- -x- -x-

_The fear was overpowering, suffocating him until he was sure that he would die. He had hoped to die. He wasn’t surprised, though, when it never came – luck and good fortune never did with him. He tried not to be disappointed, tried to reason with himself that that was just the way it was. Why should he gain luck and good fortune when he lied and deceived?_

_The ropes wrapped around his too-thin arms ripped at the skin as he was yanked roughly through the rocks. His bare feet were torn apart as he stepped on the sharp points, and no amount of begging would slow them down, no amount of pleading would get them to show him the slightest bit of mercy. He was useful, they had said. He had a purpose, which was why they weren’t going to kill him. But break him … that they could do._

_And break him they did._

_Bound to a jagged rock, they split him apart. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, struggled until the ropes cut into his skin, making him bleed, but they would not stop. They beat him with rocks, shredding the meat from his bones, tore the skin from his body. No questions were asked, no inquiries of who he was or what he was doing on their barren Realm were given. It was all just pain._

_But there was finally relief, finally a moment of peace. They let him be and allowed his body to heal. It took time, but muscles were put back in place, his skin knitted itself back together, broken bones righted themselves. It soon became easier to breathe … until they returned._

_And then the pain started all over again._

            Emerald green eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar room. For several long, fleeting seconds, Loki panicked, unable to identify where he was before his brain caught up with him and the memories of earlier came back. He was in Asgard and he was safe. Or at least he hoped he was. Closing his eyes again, Loki focused on calming himself down, on getting his breathing evened out, on chasing back the memories that were still fighting to claim him once more. He did not know how long it took, but when he opened his eyes, Thor was staring down at him, the expression on his face a mixture of concern and relief, as though he did not know if Loki would wake or not. The look angered him.

            “What did you do to me?” Loki demanded breathlessly, as though it was him instead of the AllFather who had hurt him, who had added to the pain that he was already experiencing. He did not feel strong enough to move – his entire body ached and throbbed and felt heavy. He did not remember feeling so drained when they first arrived. Of course, he had to also take into account whatever the AllFather had done to him. The pain had been sharp and overbearing, weighing down on him and forcing the breath right out of his lungs. It was a fight to breathe, a fight to keep his head above the water. It was a right that he had failed.

            “Our Father …” Thor started before hesitating. He looked as though he was waiting for Loki to snap, to correct him for addressing the AllFather as _our_ father instead of _your_ father. Nothing was said, though. Loki continued to stare up at Thor, waiting for him to continue. So he did. “He went into your mind and sought the truth before it could become lost and twisted in the rest of your memories.”

            Loki did not know what disturbed him more – the fact that the AllFather had been inside his mind and could have seen anything, or the fact that he had seen _those_ memories, _those_ horrors. And it angered him, because he had no right to go into his mind, had no right to violate those boundaries. Regardless, the news was enough to rouse Loki, and he pulled himself up until he was propped on his elbows. The act had him out of breath. He would not accept the help of Thor, would not lose himself to the pain and the exhaustion like before. Loki swatted his hands away when he tried. He did not need his help – he never did. He never would.

            “Where is he now?” Loki asked, staring intently at Thor as he started to pull himself up into a sitting position. He needed to see the AllFather, needed to know what it was that he saw. It could have been anything and he had to be prepared for damage control. Loki didn’t know what he would do once he confronted him, but he was resourceful and would come up with something to say to convince him of his intentions. But Thor stopped him, placing a hand on his chest and pressing down, bringing Loki back to rest on his elbows. “I would speak with him!”

            “You can’t,” Thor replied, his features appearing tired and worn, and if he looked like that, Loki could only imagine what his appearance must look like. But the thought was pushed aside immediately after, confusion and annoyance and fatigue settling in as he stared up Thor.

            “And why is that?” Loki snarled, unable to at least keep the annoyance out of his voice. But no matter how frustrated he was becoming, he didn’t have the strength to push himself back up into a sitting position. His muscles ached and his head was starting to throb and all he wanted to do was lie back down and slip into the nothingness that sleep brought.

            “Father has fallen into the Odinsleep,” That was enough to silence Loki. It was not that he was worried for him – he had witnessed it the last time he fell to it, had even been the cause of it – but it was the timing that shocked Loki and sparked another flame of anger and resentment inside of him. Once again, when Loki needed him, he was unavailable. But Thor – ever the fool – took his silence for concern and placed a hand on top of shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “He was able to hold off long enough to send word that you are innocent and will not be held accountable for what happened in Midgard.”

            Loki numbly nodded his head, unable to come up with an appropriate response, his tongue once again failing him. He waited for Thor to continue, but it looked as though he was waiting for Loki to say something, to react outwardly in some form to the news that was given. Thor must have been expecting a smile, perhaps even a hug, but it did not come and it would not come. Loki held no love for the AllFather, not anymore. Raising his eyebrows, Loki shot Thor an incredulous look before motioning with his hand to continue. “And what else?”

            Thor blinked and had the audacity to look sheepish before his expression returned to concern and Loki was really starting to hate that look. They were not friends, not brothers, not anything to each other anymore. He did not wish to spend any more time in Thor’s company than need be, and he could feel his patience wearing thinner and thinner the longer Thor stayed in his presence. “You will, however, have to be held responsible for your actions against Jotunheim. You were in control of your mind and had tried to wipe out the whole Realm,” That he did. But Loki couldn’t blame himself for his actions, because – given the chance – he would try to do it again in a heart-beat. Loki did not say that aloud, though, as it wouldn’t help his case. As it were, he was facing a charge of genocide. Thor’s next words, however, surprised him. They made no sense and Loki could not wrap his head around the reasons. “You are under house-arrest until father awakens. Mother’s garden, your chambers, and the library are the only places you are allowed to go. Wards have been put in place to ensure that you abide by those restrictions.”

            “But … why?” Loki asked, unable to understand. The sentence was too light for the extent of what he had done and he could feel the throbbing in his head increase the more he thought about it, the exhaustion pulling and intensifying the more he tried to grasp why he was being shown such mercy. He had tried to kill all of the Frost Giants, had tried to destroy that entire Realm, and he was only placed under house-arrest? It made no sense to him. Only it suddenly did with such clarity not a few seconds later – _pity_. The AllFather had been in his head, had known what he had gone through after he fell from the Bifrost. It was all _pity_ and it made Loki sick, made his stomach cramp painfully, his fists clenching into tight balls. How he wanted to _hurt_. “ _Oh_.”

            If Thor realised that Loki had made the connection, he gave no indication. Putting a hand on Loki’s chest, he pushed him back down onto the comfortable mattress, ignoring the snarl that followed, as well as the hateful glare that was thrown in his direction. Instead, Thor pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back against it.  “Rest, brother,” He said. “I will escort you to your chambers once you have healed.”

            Loki wanted to refuse him, wanted to spite him and stay awake for as long as he could, but after a few minutes of rebellion, he soon realised that that was an impossible task. He was too sore, too angry, and just too tired to think and act and feel, and, the pressure against his skull was almost too much for him to handle. The bed that he was lying on was incredibly soft and, the longer he laid on it the more difficult it was for Loki to keep his eyes open. He fought the exhaustion for as long as he could, but he was fighting a losing battle. His eyes soon slipped closed, and sleep overcame him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            When Loki woke up next, he had no idea how long he had slept for. All he knew was that the second he opened his eyes, he felt refreshed. His body didn’t ache and he didn’t feel as though he was being weighed down, as though there was a pressure on his chest that was restricting his breathing and suffocating him. It was a wonderful feeling and it made Loki want to snuggle back down under the soft pillows and the furs and blankets that covered his body and go back to sleep. It would be a lot simpler. Loki wasn’t a fool, though, and he knew that his family wanted answers and would come to him soon enough, seeking them. It was only a matter of time now. They had questions, concerns and, with the AllFather in the Odinsleep, there would be no-one else but him to give them what they wanted. Squeezing his eyes shut, Loki wished for sleep to claim him once more. He dreaded the moment when Thor would walk back through those doors – he could easily tell that his brother wasn’t present – because the second he walked back in, Loki knew he would receive no more of that.

            Sighing deeply, Loki got comfortable once more, shifting until he felt more relaxed and at ease. The room that he was in was quiet, which meant the healer – or whoever was tending to him – still thought he was asleep, which was a good thing, because the last thing he wanted was to deal with anyone. He wanted more time to sleep and not think and worry about what was to come. And after such a long time of always moving, staying still and sleeping sounded really, really wonderful. So he pulled the furs up to his neck and buried himself down in the cocoon of blankets and allowed his mind to drift as it had always done right before he fell asleep.

_Breathing was excruciatingly painful. His lungs felt like they were on fire with no chance of ever being extinguished. He screamed out in pain when he felt a hand tear the skin from his chest, squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back when the muscles were removed next. The tears were streaming down his dirty face, but he knew that they wouldn’t stop. If they hadn’t before, why would they now?_

_Begging did nothing, either, and as much as he told himself that he wouldn’t anymore, he once again broke that vow. He didn’t dare move, because moving hurt and moving meant more pain and moving would only make it all worse, because that meant he still had fight left in him. And he didn’t. He really, really didn’t. But – just like all the times before when things got too much – he begged and pleaded for his life, willing to trade and do anything he could for it all to stop._

_It didn’t work – deep down, he already knew it wouldn’t. That didn’t stop the sob that ripped from inside of him, shaking his frame, causing spasm upon spasm to travel throughout his entire body. He was still bound to that rock, the rope wrapped tightly around his arms, keeping him firmly in place. He had nowhere to go and he was forced to watch as they slashed his chest open until the very bones were visible. And they didn’t stop there. One by one, they grabbed a rib and slowly – agonisingly so – pulled. He was lost in a maelstrom of pain that blinded him and knocked the air right out of his lungs. He was so focused on the pulling that he was entirely unprepared for when they pushed a rib down. It punctured his lung, the bone easily slicing through. And then he was gurgling for breath, choking on his own blood until he was sure that he would finally find that sweet release._

_Only, it didn’t last. They didn’t touch him anymore. They allowed him time to heal, allowed his body to stitch him back up together again. Several days passed in utter silence before he heard the sound of their approach._

_He was crying before they even laid a hand on him._

            Loki was staring up at the ceiling before he even realised that he was awake. Or was he awake? Was it merely a memory that had forced its way to the surface, plaguing and haunting him, making him relive horrible events that happened not too long ago? Loki didn’t know, didn’t care. He just wanted it all to stop. He was home and he was safe and there was no way that they could come and get him, to continue the damage that they had inflicted upon him. He was free of them. But he really wasn’t. If he was then he wouldn’t be dreaming about them, reliving memory after gruesome memory every time he closed his eyes. Loki could still see them, could still feel their hands on his body, the nauseating scent of their breath on his face. It was disgusting and it sent a shiver racing down his spine. Loki pulled the furs even further up his body. There would be no more sleeping after that. How could there be? His eyes felt heavy and all he wanted to do was close them, but Loki forced them to stay open. Closing his eyes meant giving them access, meant allowing them to seep back into his mind and uproot every sense of stability he still had left. He couldn’t do that.

            So he lied on the bed, surrounded by pillows and furs and blankets, and waited.

-x- -x- -x-

            Hiding away wasn’t going to save him anymore. Of course, Loki knew that it was bound to happen eventually, was expecting and preparing for the moment when the healers would come, assess his health, and then send the word to Thor that he was well enough to get up – even though he was too tired, even though he was plagued by nightmares (memories) that prevented him from having a restful sleep – and leave. Word was indeed sent after he was evaluated, and Loki was forced to come out of the cocoon of pillows and furs and blankets that he had made for himself and bathe before Thor came. The last thing he wanted was to face Thor looking as dishevelled as he did when his brother brought him back to Asgard. He didn’t know of his title, didn’t know if he was still a part of the Royal Family. Perhaps it was too soon to tell. Regardless, when a servant brought him a fresh change of clothes, Loki saw that they were his own.

            He dressed slowly, making Thor wait, even after he was told that he was outside the door, but Loki did not care, did not worry. Thor wasn’t busting his way into the room, demanding that Loki was to come out immediately, so he assumed that he was all right. And as much as he didn’t want to anger Thor, he didn’t want to outright listen to him, either, not after everything that they’d been through, not after all of the anger and the bitterness, not after all of the pain and the envy. When he couldn’t stall any longer, Loki walked out of the room and, standing against the wall with his arms casually crossed over his broad chest, was Thor. “You look well,” Thor commented lightly, good-naturedly, as though nothing bad had happened to them, and if he noticed the way Loki bristled and narrowed his eyes, he made no show of it. Thor merely pushed himself away from the wall and motioned for Loki to follow him. He didn’t even turn to make sure that he was following, either, just knew that he would. _The arrogant bastard_ , Loki thought as he begrudgingly made his way after Thor, though he purposely slowed his stance. _No_ , a little voice said in the back of his mind in reply, the one that haunted him about his true parentage, the one that ensured that he would never forget. _You are the bastard_. His good mood – however good it could have been after suffering through those harsh nightmares and being put under house-arrest – deflated after that thought. He said nothing to Thor as he followed slowly behind, and Loki passed the time by staring out the windows. Asgard truly was beautiful and, after spending so long in the darkness, Loki was both overwhelmed and speechless at the sight.

            After some time, though, Loki noticed that he couldn’t see the Bifrost. He figured that Thor was supposed to take him back to his chambers so he could start his sentencing, but there was no Bifrost – Loki’s room had a clear view of that and of the ocean that fell off into nothing. He could see neither. Furrowing his brow, Loki stopped walking and turned to look at Thor, who was still walking down the hallway ahead of him. “Where are you taking me?” He asked, his voice not so much demanded, though there was tone that easily made Thor’s shoulders tense some. _Good_ , the vindictive voice sneered. _Perhaps he hasn’t forgotten after all._

            Thor turned and faced Loki, a sigh spilling over his lips. There were a plethora of emotions on his face, ranging from exhaustion to impatience to contentment to uncertainty. It made no sense and Loki found that he didn’t have the strength to rifle through them to determine the true meaning, to uncover what he was feeling. But he didn’t seem angry at Loki’s demand, didn’t grab his arm and drag him to wherever he wished Loki to be. Instead, he stayed right where he was, a soft wistful look in those sparkling blue eyes. “You once told me that no-one would miss you when you were gone, that there would be celebrations to your departure. Well, I want to show you something.”

            Curiosity and a bit of wariness took over most of Loki’s thoughts and feelings, but he did not question Thor anymore as they resumed walking. It was only after a few minutes that Loki realised that they were walking to the King’s Hall, which was where the portraits of Asgard’s late Kings – Buri, Bor, and Cul – hung on the stone walls, as well as a one of Odin. Thor spared none a glance as he walked past each one, though Loki slowed his pace even more, staring up at each hard face with a nervous look. He didn’t know why – they were all dead, minus Odin – but looking up at them made him feel small, unworthy, insignificant. He was once a King, but he felt like he had no right to call himself that after all that he’d done. In doing so dishonoured all that came before him. At the very end of the hall, though, Loki stopped beside Thor. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but a portrait with his face wasn’t it. Gaping some, Loki took a step closer and reached out to touch it, but drew back, unable to do so. He didn’t know what to say really. Loki stared at the portrait in shock before looking at Thor, silently seeking an explanation. He was only King for a handful of days, and those days were full of plots, tricks, and destruction. His face had no right hanging on the wall next to their late Kings, the ones who actually made a difference to Asgard. Upon closer inspection, though, Loki could see little messages written around his face. They were small – not long at all – but they were several.

            _He will be missed._

_Pray for a safe journey to Valhalla._

_Long live King Loki._

            “When news spread about your … death … the people of Asgard presented us with this,” Thor said quietly and he looked sad, his distant gaze revealing pain and heartache. His usual bright eyes were dull now, as though he was lost in a memory. “You have always been mischievous, brother, and you have always had a knack for causing ill feelings, but you have always been loved. You _were_ missed and mourned for.”

            “I do not …” Loki started, but trailed off. What could he possibly say to convince Thor and make him understand his troubles? He had gone mad with grief, had panicked and lashed out at the people who loved him the most, had tried to destroy an entire race, because he was too lost in his betrayal and anger to see reason. He had tried to kill _Thor_. Loki did not expect to be missed; he did not expect to be mourned. He wasn’t Thor – wasn’t bright, wasn’t the sun, wasn’t Odin’s favourite. He was dark and cold, the Trickster God, who lied and deceived. “… Why?”

            Thor licked his lips nervously, as though he didn’t know how Loki would react to his next words. “You may not be my brother by blood, but you _are_ my brother. I held you in my arms and watched you grow, just as you have me. We have been through much together and that has only brought us closer. I was a fool to not see your pain, but my eyes are open and they shall remain so until my end. I will not betray you again.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            Loki lost track of time in the King’s Hall. He spent a good while standing before his portrait, reading each and every little message, and then read it again to convince himself that what he was seeing was real, that it wasn’t all just a figment of his imagination. It was hard to believe that the people of Asgard had presented such a gift, hard to believe that they would actually mourn for him. All his life, Loki had felt like an outcast and only recently had he learned the truth about why he felt so isolated from his family. But even when he was oblivious to his true parentage, Loki had been different. He was named God of Mischief for a reason and had played his title well. He could not give an exact number to the many times he was called before the AllFather, demanding explanations for the mischief and chaos of one thing or another. A century after his title was given, Loki was sure that he was the most hated citizen of Asgard. Apparently, he had been very, very mistaken. But after he had read over the many messages, Loki had moved to the floor, sitting down on the opposite wall – his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his head resting on his thin knees – so he could continue to stare at the portrait. Tears blurred his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He had cried enough in the past two years to last him several centuries. He was simply grateful that Thor said nothing. He hadn’t left, hadn’t moved from his place. His sparkling blue eyes were either concentrating hard on the portrait or staring at Loki, and when he was staring at him, Loki found that he couldn’t read his expression. He had only tried once, but he didn’t dare look back again. Would he think him weak if he saw tears in Loki’s eyes?

            He remained unmoving, emerald green eyes staring up at a face he didn’t even recognise anymore. It was hard to believe that only a year had passed since he was last home. So much had changed, and Loki had changed along with it. The man in that portrait – if he could have even being considered a man after his actions – was a stranger to Loki now. That man – that _boy_ – had been full of jealous rage, of hate and anger, and he had wanted nothing more than to cause utter destruction, to annihilate Realms and prove that he was someone. Loki _now_ didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He was simply a lost being, trying to put together pieces of a heart that was broken, of a heart that was ripped apart and shredded, unrecognisable.

            Several hours had surely passed before Thor finally roused Loki up and started leading him back to his chambers. The silence was a welcome and, as Loki followed Thor down the long corridors, he was thankful that he hadn’t said another word to him. He had much to think about, much to contemplate, and the last thing he neither needed nor wanted was to have to explain what he was feeling. Because he didn’t know what he was feeling, didn’t know what he was thinking. It had not ceased to surprise him how much had changed in the past year. Asgard, those who considered him family … _himself_ – he barely recognised them anymore. But despite how they were strangers to him now, Loki couldn’t help but feel the familiar pull. He had been through so much, had seen so much, and though he had only been home for a few days, Loki found that he enjoyed the comfort that Asgard’s great walls provided. He missed it.

            So lost in his own thoughts, Loki just barely realised that his mother was standing just at the corner of an adjacent hallway, and the sight of her gave him pause, made his feet slow to a stop as he took in her appearance. Frigga was as lovely as ever and to this day, Loki still thought of her as the most beautiful woman in all of Asgard. With kind, fair features, Frigga was gentle and strong. She had a big heart and an open mind, and Loki recalled several times in his younger years where he would go seek her counsel when he was in need of advice or simply wanted someone to talk to that would actually listen and take in his words. She was his rock when Thor was off gallivanting with the Warriors Three, his best friend when all the others would make fun of him and jest about his desire to study magic. But above all, she was his mother and nothing would ever change that. Loki found that he was suddenly tired of keeping a barrier around himself. His blessed mother was standing at an adjacent hallway, staring at him with such happiness and hope in her eyes that Loki couldn’t deny her. Her hands were clasped together as though she wanted to touch him and hold him, and Loki would give that to her in a heart-beat. And he did. Letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, Loki gave Frigga a tired smile and started walking towards her, his pace much faster as he moved towards her. Frigga let out a happy cry as she ran towards her youngest son, her arms spread out wide and inviting and, when they finally got to each other, she wrapped them tightly around Loki, squeezing him and holding him as though he were still a child. He still was to her. And Loki was okay with that. He was tired and wary and he wanted nothing more than to be shielded from the world. In Frigga’s arms, he knew that he would be.

            “Oh, my son,” Frigga whispered in his ear, nothing but love in her voice. She smelt like flowers and pages from old tomes, and Loki felt his eyes water, because he had missed her _so_ much. Her arms around him made him feel safe and warm, and he could feel his heart lightening, the stress on his shoulders lessening as she tightened her embrace. “My baby,” She kisses his cheek and ran a hand through his hair, gently rocking him from left to right, as though she could sense the emotions exploding inside of Loki, as though sensing the plethora of emotions that were bouncing all over the place, leaving him in a state of confusion and helplessness.

            “I’m sorry,” Loki found himself gasping out, squeezing her just as tightly as she was him, because he needed her so much, and she needed him even more. The second she let out a sorrowful whimper, Loki lost whatever control he had and cried, the tears spilling from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. He buried his face in the crook of his mother’s neck and clung to her as he had done so many times before in the past, and he wasn’t ashamed to – not with Frigga. She wouldn’t judge him and she wouldn’t laugh at his weakness. Frigga cried along with him, running her hands up and down his back, through his hair, doing all that she could to comfort him.

            “There, there, my love,” She gently said, pulling Loki back just enough so she could look into his emerald green eyes. Though her cheeks were flushed and she had tears running down her face, her bright blue eyes were full of such happiness that Loki was rendered speechless. He could see it in her eyes that she had already forgiven him, and Loki just couldn’t understand why. She leaned in, though, and pressed her lips to his forehead, and Loki found himself closing his eyes at the warmth that spread through him.

            She turned her sights to Thor, who was standing back several steps, wanting to give mother and son the privacy that they deserved. He stepped up, though, when she came over to him, and he pulled her into a hug when she beckoned for him, Loki stepping out of the way, not wanting to intervene or get in the way. Words were soon being exchanged between Frigga and Thor, but Loki wasn’t paying attention to what was being said. He used the few moments that he had to pull himself together, to wipe away his tears and try to get back some of the control that was taken from him due to his overwhelming emotions. And it was when he had finally pulled himself together as much as he could muster that he felt as though he was being watched. Emerald greens shot up and immediately locked eyes with dark browns – _Sif_. So many emotions were reflected in those eyes – shock, surprise, anger, happiness, sadness, want, need – and Loki had no idea which one was more dominant. He didn’t have the chance to think more about it, though, before Frigga took his hand. Loki soon forgot about those dark brown eyes as his mother stole his attention.

-x- -x- -x-

            Frigga’s garden was just the same as Loki remembered it, but at the same time it was strange and new to him. He said nothing to his mother as they walked along the paths, their hands still intertwined, and Loki was silently thankful for that. He didn’t want to let go of his mother’s hand, didn’t want to lose that safety and sense of stability. Frigga must have felt the same way, because her thumb was constantly moving, massaging little circles into the front of his hand, and the motions kept Loki calm, kept him planted and stable. They were taking the long path around the garden, and Loki allowed his gaze to take in every inch of the beauty. Frigga’s garden took up the entire east side of the Palace, and Loki was proud with the knowledge that his mother planted each and every seed into the ground, had watered and fertilised and tended to the flowers as they grew. His fingers brushed over some of the buds, internally naming each kind, trying to refresh his memory. He had once known the names, could identify them on scents alone. He couldn’t do that anymore.

            “You are quiet, my child,” Frigga spoke up, gently squeezing her son’s hand. They had been walking for a while now, neither speaking, simply enjoying the other’s presence. While Loki had been spending the majourity of his time looking at everything – and that made her heart soar, because Loki had always been an observant and curious child, and to see that that had not changed almost made fresh tears pool into her eyes, because she finally had her baby back – Frigga had spent her time staring at him. How she had missed him, missed seeing those sharp emerald green eyes, missed hearing the sound of his voice, missed touching his face. There were no words to describe the pain that she felt in that year, thinking that Loki was dead. Knowing that she would never be able to look upon his face again almost killed her. Frigga didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want to let Loki out of her sight, for fear that it was a dream, a cruel twist of fate that teased her and prolonged her suffering. “Will you not speak of your horrors to your mother?”

            “I do not want to speak of them to anyone,” Loki replied, his voice soft and withdrawn. How could he tell her about what he had been through? Those _horrors_ would keep her up at night, would break her heart if she only knew what he had been put through. No, he couldn’t do that – he wouldn’t. Loki was home now and, though the word still sounded strange on his tongue, he had no plans to abandon her, the mere thought made his heart race and his grip on her hand to tighten.

            “You have suffered enough, Loki,” And oh, did Loki love the sound of his name on her lips. The tone was so soft, so loving and caring; it made his eyes water some, a lump to form in his throat. He hated that he couldn’t control his emotions, hated that they changed at an instant. But then he remembered that he was with Frigga, his mother, and he knew that she wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t call him out for his pain and fear. “Share the burden with me. Let me heal you as a mother should.”

            “Not all wounds can be healed by magic, just as not all wounds can be healed by the comfort of their mother,” And that was all that Loki would say on the matter. Frigga would not give up, but at least she knew that, for the moment, all Loki wanted and needed – because he desperately _needed_ her – was to hear the sound of her voice. So they walked through the garden and, as they went, Frigga pointed out each flower and called it by name. Loki smiled for the first time since he returned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            As the Queen of Asgard, Frigga had a lot of business to attend to, despite how much she wished to stay with Loki. She was reluctant to leave, hugging him longer, murmuring how quickly she would handle her business so that she could come back to him, sit with him, and talk with him. Loki appreciated her care and her devotion to him, but he was quite content with walking around the garden on his own. He could let the shield around him drop, could allow the uncertainty and the fear to fall back into place around him, surrounding him, suffocating him, because he was afraid, and he didn’t know exactly what to do to fight the fear and allow things to return to normal. Loki didn’t even know if he wanted things to return back to normal to begin with, but was it not better than what he had dealt with for the past year? He was immortal and the years for him came and went ever so quickly, but there were certain events in his life that slowed down that progression. His lips being sewn shut had been one that had stayed with Loki for a long while after the thread was painfully removed. His past dealings with … Loki leaned against a tree and sighed deeply as he ran a hand through his black hair. He just didn’t know what to do to get past it, didn’t know how to return to a state of normalcy.

            He felt as though his sanity was hanging on by hairs and that any wrong move would send him hurtling down a cliff, and he knew that the fall alone would kill him this time, because he wasn’t strong enough to deal with it anymore. A part of him wondered if he should be as terrified as he thought, that he should be seeking help and begging for guidance, because he was so lost, so broken and defeated and pathetic, but he was too numb to feel, too numb to realise that he was heading down a path he couldn’t handle alone. Everything was so different. Only a year had passed since he was gone and Loki felt as though he was in an entirely new world filled with rules and expectations that he couldn’t even begin to understand. This place, Asgard, it was his home, and though he felt comfortable and could feel the ebbs of safety knitting together, becoming slowly stronger, Loki still felt as though he was slipping. And slipping meant losing his balance, falling back into that _hell_ , feeling those thoughts, acting on those emotions, becoming desperate and angry – _so angry_ – and –

            Thor’s laughter, of all things, sounded in his ears, breaking him out of the panic that was welling deep within him. Emerald green eyes snapping towards the direction of the laughter, trying to find the face that matched the laugh, but Thor wasn’t close enough to be seen. Glancing up at the sky, Loki deduced that it was past noon, which meant that his brother was probably headed to the training fields to spar. It made him sick, the feeling that slowly grew deep in his heart. It wasn’t jealousy. Loki was above feeling jealous. That thought only lasted a moment before Loki was shaking his head. Nothing had changed – not really. Those feelings still took root deep within him, making him feel small and invisible. He was still that jealous boy, the one that yearned to be in the light with his brother, while hating him at the same time. It couldn’t be, though. Thor was light while Loki was dark. That was how it was to always be.

            Loki pushed himself away from the tree he had leaned against and slowly started to make his way back to the Palace, feeling drained and exhausted and vulnerable and pathetic. He had enough of the sun, had enough nature, had enough of walking and thinking and hoping and pretending that things would work themselves out. Things like that didn’t happen for someone like Loki, so Loki took a left that lead him in the direction to the Palace. He noticed briefly how quickly he remembered the way through Frigga’s garden, how he didn’t have to think about where he was going or which direction to take. He banished the thought shortly after. Those thoughts were dangerous and would only lead him to more, and he couldn’t take more, because that would mean realising that he actually _missed_ Asgard, _missed_ his family, _missed_ his home, and he couldn’t miss that. In doing so would reveal his fear and his need and want to be accepted in a world that – he had once thought – despised him.

            His pace was quick as he made his way through the garden, pushing and slapping branches and hanging vines out of the way. He needed solitude, a quiet place to sit down, relax, and put together his scattered thoughts. The library seemed like the ideal place – it had always been Loki’s favourite place to be since before he could even read – but for some reason, Loki found the strange desire to lock himself in his room, to wrap himself up in his furs and blankets and just _hide_. Hiding meant no-one could find him, judge him, and try to understand what happened to him. Hiding meant being alone and that was exactly what he wanted, because population scared him, frightened him, made him uneasy. _You’re a coward_ ; an inner voice broke through his weak walls, making him almost jump. His heart leap in his throat and he swallowed down the nausea. Could he truly find no peace, a place where the thoughts in his mind couldn’t and wouldn’t terrorise him, break him down and make him feel like such sorry, fragile excuse of a God?

            Control his breathing – that was all he had to do until he could get to his chambers. Take the back hallways, avoid the guards and the servants that littered the halls during the daytime, and he would be all right. He just had – gasping, a sharp, sudden pain took over Loki’s vision, shocking him and –

_Black, it was pitch black and freezing cold – not as cold as Jotunheim, but enough to freeze his naked body, filling him with a sense of dread and fear, scarring him deeply, leaving behind a permanent shiver that made his already aching body all the more painful. Bare trees and thorns and rocks were all he could see. They walked through them for miles and miles, getting deeper and deeper into the unknown area. The further they went, the darker it became, the more crowded and clustered it became. The broken branches with sharp pointy ends scraped along his body, cutting open his skin and causing little trails of blood to slowly travel down to the ground beneath him._

_The trees were dead, but they were alive, as well, staring down at him, judging him, waiting for the moment when they could swallow him whole. Perhaps it would be better if that were so. He wouldn’t be in pain any longer. But it was a foolish thought. He knew that he would suffer a thousand times over before he was granted with something as merciful as death._

_Shoved from behind, he was forced down to his knees, pushed onto his stomach and chest, the rocks and prickly thorns ripping open and slashing at his skin. The branches were shaking and Loki was screaming as the vines were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, the sharp stabs of the thorns easily drawing more blood. They gagged him this time, forcing the vines between his teeth, wrapping it around his head over and over and over and the thorns cut into his cheeks, shredded his tongue and left thorns sticking in his gums –_

            “Loki,” A voice called. It was female and there was something familiar about it, but Loki couldn’t figure out from where. Her voice was soothing, though, and he found himself slowly drifting towards it. “Open your eyes,” She spoke, and Loki heard the whispering sound of her clothes shifting before he felt the brush of her fingers on his forearm. They were callused and rough, the signs of work on them. The breeze blew gently in his face, her scent meeting his nostrils – gardenia with a hint of leather painting a picture of her face. Loki didn’t know whether to be glad or afraid of her.

            Emerald green eyes slowly opened, though, and Loki was met with two terrifying things. The first thing that caught Loki’s attention was the pain shooting up his hand. His hand was clenched tightly around the branch of a flower he was looking at, and he could feel the prickle of thorns that tore into his skin. He couldn’t move, though, no matter how many times he willed it, no matter how many times he screamed at himself to let it go. It was as though he was trapped in his mind, trapped in the memories that refused to relinquish their hold on him. _They were hurting him, laughing at him, humiliating him and_ – but then his gaze snapped to her. She was everything that he had remembered her to be – hair tied and out of her face, dark brown eyes wide and deep and Loki could see himself staring into them. She looked exactly the same, but different, worn, aged almost. There was something about the way that she stared at him; tears veiling her eyes, making them seem brighter.

            “Loki –”

            He pulled himself from the branch and quickly made his way down the path, unable to stand before her in such a state. He was pathetic and _ruined_ and his heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn’t stand there and see such raw emotion in her dark brown eyes. He didn’t deserve that emotion. Blood dripped from his wounded hand, leaving a small trail of blood behind him.

            Loki left Sif standing alone.

-x- -x- -x-

            The sun was long past set when there was a soft knock on Loki’s door, and even though it was quiet and not meant to frighten him, he felt himself shrink even deeper into the warm, safe place underneath his furs and blankets. His behaviour was pathetic and foolish, but Loki had come to the conclusion in those several hours of silence with only his thoughts for company that he was pathetic and foolish – pathetic and foolish enough to think that everything would be okay, pathetic and foolish enough to think that he still had a place within their world. He had not a place nor a home, not a mother nor a brother. He was merely Loki, abandoned bastard, broken and alone, destined to walk the Realms as a shadow. That was his rightful place, his true place. He said nothing, though, to whoever it was that was knocking on his door. He had done the same when Frigga had come. His heart had clenched when he heard his mother cry, when he heard her beg and plead for him to let her in, to not shut him out, but Loki had remained strong. He wouldn’t allow her to become contaminated with his disease, with his sickness. She was more than that.

            “Loki?” The door opened a few moments later, and the first thing that Loki saw was a head of blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes easily finding him, despite how he tried to hide underneath a mountain of furs and blankets. It was a useless attempt. Thor could always find him. He stepped into the room and closed the door, slowly, cautiously, making his way to the bed. Loki could see his gaze falling to the floor, taking in the drops of blood that came from his hand. He had yet to clean it and it still bled slowly, staining his clothing, as well as his bedding, but Loki cared not. Emerald green eyes watched closely as Thor neared. “Are you …” He started, but seemed to think better of it. He knew Loki wasn’t well, and asking about it and talking about it wouldn’t do any good. There was no healing his scars. “The Lady Sif told me about what happened in mother’s garden. She was most worried about you. She wishes you would speak with her. She thinks often of you.”

            _Brown hair cascading down her shoulders, dark brown eyes, a laughter that filled his heart and made him smile, despite himself_ – Loki closed his eyes and shut those thoughts and feelings away. He had to cut all ties, had to stop everything, because there was no place for it here, not with him anymore. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes when he heard Thor moving closer to the bed. His body tensed and he was screaming in his mind when he felt his security blankets being pulled down the bed some, revealing his upper body. A small intake of breath sounded before Thor was gently grasping his wrist, inspecting the wound on his hand. It wasn’t bad – it hurt, but Loki had felt much, much worse – though there were thorns and prickles still in the cut. A part of him didn’t want them removed. They were there as a reminder, refreshing his memory every time he started to feel at ease in Asgard.

            Thor didn’t say anything to him as he started cleaning the wound. He left once, going into the washroom to get a bowl of water and linen, as well as a cloth to dress it. He was gentle and he was kind and for just a second, Loki allowed himself to relax. His eyes felt heavy and Thor’s repetitive motions were enough to lull him into a doze. He awoke abruptly, though when he felt Thor moving away, unable to stop the panic from taking over him when he moved. “Where are you going?” He caught himself right after the words left his mouth, and he internally cursed himself for allowing such vulnerability to show. But his heart was racing and his breath was coming out in quick pants and it took everything to stop from reaching out to his brother.

            But Thor smiled, sparkling blue eyes revealing nothing but love and adoration. Loki didn’t understand it – not after everything that he had done – but he was grateful when Thor returned to his bedside and sat down upon it. “Fear not, my brother, for I will never leave you again.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            He woke to the smell of bread and honey, to the smell of fruits and rich crème that he had always enjoyed dipping grapes into. He woke to the peaceful pressure of a warm body pressed against his own, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close, shielding him from a world he could not recognise. Emerald green eyes slowly blinked open. The first thing he noticed was a huge plate sitting at the foot of the bed, filled with breads and fruits and cheeses and pastries. Loki could not remember the last time he had eaten something and just the sight of those foods made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. The second thing that Loki noticed was Thor – Thor who was _still_ there, who hadn’t left him, who had his arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close, holding him against his chest, his heart. Hesitantly, he let his head fall back to Thor’s chest and he closed his eyes, listening for the sound of his heart-beat. He could feel it and it was there and he wasn’t just imagining it. It wasn’t a cruel twist of fate, wasn’t a sick game that was being played on him. It was real and Thor was real and he was home, he was safe, there was no-one that could hurt him or –

            His own heart-beat wasn’t in a calm rhythm anymore and Loki knew that Thor was awake. Using the seconds of privacy that he had left, Loki closed his eyes and willed his heart to calm, to stop trying to beat right through his ribs, to relax. It wasn’t easy – it never was with him – because all Loki could think about was a still body, cold, unmoving, sparkling blue eyes that were lifeless, staring up at him with a dull expression. They were empty, void of emotion, and that wasn’t right, because Thor was never void of emotion. A smile always graced his face and, even if there wasn’t, Thor wore his heart on his sleeve and there was always something to see, to hear and feel and – “Loki,” That voice came too quick, was too loud, too … too _everything_ , and Loki could take it, couldn’t handle it, couldn’t _breathe it was getting hard to breath and why couldn’t he breathe he needed to breathe Thor_ – “Brother, all is well. Be still.”

            But was it all well? Shaking his head, Loki forced himself to breathe, to inhale and exhale, but the more he did that, the easier it was for him to hear the sound of his shaky breath, and the more he heard it, the more erratic it got, and before he knew it, he was panting, gasping, his lungs burning for oxygen, for air, for a breath that he could not catch. Tears swarmed his eyes and fell down his cheeks, the sobs ripping from him doing absolutely nothing to ease the pain in his chest, his lungs. He could hear Thor’s voice in his ear, trying to calm Loki down, trying to bring him back to reality, but nothing helped, and he could feel those arms wrapping around him and he let out a pathetic whimpering moan that sounded broken and pitiful in his own ears. Loki swatted at those arms that tried to encircle him. He couldn’t let himself get trapped, couldn’t let himself be anymore worthless. He was Loki of Asgard – _and I am burdened with glorious purpose_ – a Prince, Odin’s Second Son – _Son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim, and Prince of the Frost Giants_ –

            “Loki, it’s all right. Just listen to my voice, brother, and come back to me.”

            The cry that ripped from Loki at those words broke him entirely. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Loki buried his head in his arms, shielding himself from the world.

_He was screaming. His chest was heaving and he was straining against the ropes that were wrapped around his body, being held back by them. The gag in his mouth was muffling off his screams, but the look in his eyes was enough to show just how terrified he was, just how desperate he was. He was lying on the ground and no amount of struggling, no amount of jerking and pulling and yanking and screaming, pleading, begging would grant him another inch._

_They were hurting him. He was brought in chains and they were flogging him, beating him with rocks and fists and he wasn’t making a single noise. He was taking it and the only sound that was heard was the sound of fists against skin, the tearing of flesh, and the sound of his muffled screams as he fought against his restraints to get to him. They would hurt him for this sudden fight. He had tried for so long to remain still, to show them that he had none left, but with just the sight of him on the ground, taking a beating for_ him _; it was enough to spur on the fight. He would do anything to make it stop._

_The beating didn’t stop and he didn’t stop fighting against the ropes that held him in place that confined him and bound him so tightly. He watched helplessly as his strength lessened. Several minutes passed, hours passed before he hit the ground and even then, they did not stop. The tears were streaming down his face and he couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes, the sobs that wracked his body, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel this, wasn’t supposed to love him, and wasn’t supposed to allow this to happen. He had nothing to do with this why were they doing this it wasn’t supposed to happen it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t –_

_His name was called – he was calling his name – and his gaze cleared just enough to take in the battered face of someone he thought he hated, but loved more than anything in the entire world. “It’s all right, brother …”_

_Like an animal, they led him over to his fallen body by the ropes. They wouldn’t release him, wouldn’t let him hold him or rock him or anything. So he did the only thing that he could think of – he rested his head against his chest, closed his eyes, calmed his tears for the moment, and tried to listen for the sound of his heart-beat._ There _. It was there and he allowed himself a sob as he listened to the glorious sound. He had no idea how long he sat there, his head on his chest, his entire body and mind in a state of peace for the first time in such a long time._

_But he was unfortunate and his luck was bad, bad, bad, and as he listened to that glorious heart-beat, he began to notice how it got slower and slower, fainter and fainter. He picked his head up and stared down at him, at his broke body, his barely recognisable face. He called for him – muffled as it may be – before pressing his ear back against his chest. He was dying. They had beat him to the brink of death and they weren’t going to heal him, were going to let him die. His eyes squeezed shut and he forced his tears at bay, because he had to hear his heart-beat, couldn’t let it slip without his noticing._

_And when it did, he died with him. He wailed and cried and screamed and tried to bring himself closer to his fallen body, but he was yanked away, forced away, and nothing he did could bring him closer. He cursed the ropes binding him, cursed the gag that held back all that he wanted to scream, cursed himself, cursed everything and everyone, because what was the point of living anymore? He was pulled away. He fought and screamed, yanking and jerking and screaming and shouting, but they didn’t even acknowledge him as they dragged him off, leaving his entire world in a broken, dead heap on that barren ground._

            He was pulled into a solid frame and his first instinct was to scream and pull himself away and, right before Loki could get the chance, he forced himself to open his eyes. Before him was – _his light, his beacon, his brother always his brother never doubt that I love you_ – Thor, his sparkling blue eyes filled with tears of his own. He ran a hand down the side of Loki’s face, urging him to look upon him and see that he was real, that he was safe, and that nothing would ever harm him again. He was speaking, but Loki couldn’t hear what he was saying, too absorbed in _Thor_ , his light and his love and how could Loki think that Thor could never love him when he was suffocating on it. Loki shook his head and pressed himself against Thor, his arms wrapping around his neck, burying his face in the crook of his neck, because he was right there, he was okay and he was alive. He could feel the thundering of his heart and the sobs that ripped through Loki were enough to have him shaking and trembling. Thor’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and Loki relaxed in his grasp, allowing his words to wash over him, warming him.

            “Will you not tell me what ails you, brother?” Thor asked after several minutes. His voice was thick with emotion and his hand hadn’t stopped rubbing soothing circles into his back. The other was holding the back of Loki’s neck, keeping him as close as possible. Just the sound of his voice made Loki’s eyes screw up tighter, knowing that what Thor wanted to hear would tear him apart, would break him entirely. And Loki couldn’t do that, because Thor – his _brother_ – and his mother were the only reasons why he wasn’t losing himself completely to the darkness and the fear and the inevitable drop that was clinging to his ankles, weighing him down, pulling him, waiting for him to let go and fall, _fall, fall._ “I will help you. I will do anything to have you well again, Loki.”

            “I know,” Loki’s forced response, his own voice sounding weak and strangled. He choked out the words and then tightened his grip on Thor, hating how weak and pathetic he sounded, but for once not caring, because Thor would take care of him. He could be strong with Thor. He could use Thor’s hope and his light and his unending faith to bring himself back from the brink and be _Loki_ again, whoever that may be now. “But this … I cannot. I can barely survive it, but I know you will not. Please do not ask me again. You cannot know.”

            He didn’t like it – Loki could tell that much with how Thor’s arms tightened around him, with how silent he became. And even though Loki would do anything to change that, he knew that he couldn’t cave. If there was one thing that Loki could do now, it was protect Thor from _this_. It was better that way. If Thor knew what he dreamt, what he saw … it would not only break him, but it would ignite a fire under him, would have him going to that barren rock to seek revenge and vengeance for his broken brother. Loki couldn’t let Thor do that. “I may not be able to share your burdens, brother, but do not shut me out. Give me what you can and let me ease your suffering.”

            And Loki nodded his head and let out a shaky sigh, forcing the breath in and out of his lungs, because he needed to pull it together, needed to calm down. He could feel Thor’s chest rising and falling against his own, could feel his heart-beat thundering against his ribs. He could _feel_ Thor, knew that he was there, that he wasn’t just a horrible image that his damaged mind concocted to torment him more. He had no idea how long he stayed in Thor’s arms. He had no idea how long he stayed there, just listening to the sound of his heart, feeling it beat against his chest. It was comforting and it was terrifying all at the same time, because he needed to make sure it didn’t fade, needed to make sure that he was alive. He knew, but he needed to be _sure_. Thor didn’t seem to mind. He shifted only once – and that was to pull them against the headboard – before falling still, his hand rubbing continuous soothing circles into his back.

            There was a knock on the door a while later, one that caused Loki to tense up so quickly that it startled even Thor. The door opened and Loki released a small, fearful whine – one that caused his cheeks to redden and the tears to fall more freely, because how pathetic was he that he couldn’t even handle the door opening? Thor merely shushed him and tightened his grip around him, rocking him gently, calming him down. Whispered words were exchanged between his brother and the new arrival, but Loki didn’t care, couldn’t care, because all he needed in that moment was his brother. Soon there was silence. Loki could feel his body slowly start to calm, the tension in his limbs lessening until he was composed again. His eyelids grew heavy and he wasn’t strong enough to ward off sleep, but that didn’t matter, because Thor was there, and Thor was safe, and Thor would protect him against the evils that threatened to bring him down.

            Loki fell asleep in Thor’s arms and, for the first time in such a long, long time, he slept peacefully. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            Walking through the many hallways of the Palace, Loki searched for a place of solitude, a place where he could be by himself and not worry about putting up a front, a façade, showing how he was beginning the healing process, because he wasn’t. It had been almost a week and still Loki could feel as though he was getting ready to rip the skin from his own body, as though he was being watched, followed, as though he could still feel fowl breath on his face, could still hear footsteps trailing after him and no matter how many times he turned around, there was no-one. Loki felt as though he was losing his mind and, having experience in that already, it wasn’t something that he wished to repeat. Not knowing what he should do, Loki found himself spending more and more time with his beloved mother and his brother, Thor, but even then, Loki felt as though he was moving quicker and quicker towards another break. Despite how much he cared for them, they just … they didn’t get it. They were so concerned with keeping his fear at bay, with making him comfortable and happy, that they couldn’t see how their compassion was actually starting to suffocate him. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe when they were around. He was pleased when he found out that they would not be with him until dinner time. It gave Loki the time he needed to move around, to somehow find a place to rest that did not hold many people, somewhere he could just sit and feel and revel in the fear and the pain and the utter panic that became of his life, because how could he abandon that feeling when it was all he felt for so long …

            Slowly making his way from the Palace, Loki walked through Frigga’s garden and made his way deeper, finding himself moving towards a pond that he and Thor used to play in when they were younger. He had not been there for a while and, as he sat down gently on the ground at the base of a tree, Loki could not come up with the reason as to why. Even during the hottest days, the pond was shaded. The sun’s hot rays were cut off by the Palace’s towering walls and by the trees that surrounded the area, shielding them. Thor had always complained, but Loki was secretly grateful. The heat had always been an issue for him, leaving him sick and dehydrated and ill for several days at a time … but it all made sense now that he knew what he was, why the heat had such an effect on him. Taking a deep breath, Loki closed his eyes as he exhaled, willing away the thought. His world had fallen apart the second he found out what he was, where he was truly from – that he was a monster that parents told their children about at night. Perhaps he was barely holding on after the outcome of what happened to him, but the one thing that he did not think he could handle was the core of why he broke, because if he did not know then he would not have fallen, would not have found himself in the wrong hands, would not have …

            Emerald green eyes opened, finding the pond. The wind blew softly, enough to cause ripples across the surface, each ring getting bigger and bigger. It seemed almost symbolic, how each ring signified a fracture, a crack in his subconscious, how each thought, each flash could cause another and another and another until the waters calmed. He was broken, Loki was, and he just had to accept the fact that he would remain that way for a long time to come, because he had no idea how to save himself, had no idea how to climb his way out of the pit he found himself in now. Loki leaned up against the tree and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, as though trying to become smaller, as though trying to become invisible. He was pathetic and frightened and broken and so completely fragile and Loki hated himself all the more, because he had no control over anything anymore, had it all taken away from him the second he landed on that barren rock and he had no idea how to get it back. Loki thrived on control, had needed it, and now … now he was hopeless and lost and had become so dependent on the very creatures that ripped him apart and made him beg and plead and do awful things to others and to himself to even get a breath, to get just a moment of peace.

            Loki could feel a cold sweat sweep over his body, making him shiver slightly. He was hot and he was cold and he could feel a fire burning in his veins, as well as a bone-chilling emptiness that settled over his body, making him cling to himself all the tighter, because how else was he to keep warm? But the more he did that, the hotter he became, until he had no choice but to relinquish the grip he had around his knees. Sighing deeply, swallowing thickly, Loki leaned his head back against the bark of the tree. He could never find comfort. Was that how it was to be for him now, always searching for an end to the madness that had consumed him and just pray that he could find peace? Loki wasn’t that lucky, though. It wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he tried. The Norns enjoyed his suffering too much to put an end to it. So he merely sat there and listened to the wind shake the trees, the leaves rustling together. He listened to the way the water in the pond swished about, brushing against the land, dampening the ground. He listened to the sound of his heart, how he fought to keep the lingering strands of whatever bit of control he had left to remain calm until Thor or his mother found him, because at least then he could at any rate pretend that he had a fighting chance. He loved them and he hated them. He needed them and he wished they’d leave him alone, because all they did was remind him of how weak he’d become.

            A sudden snapping of a twig and the crunching of a leaf caused Loki to tense up, his heart immediately lurching to his throat. He heard a quiet “ _Oh_ ,” before the faint aroma – gardenia with a hint of leather – of a scent he had never expected to smell again caught his nose, and Loki forced himself to calm down, because he was safe and he was home and he wasn’t in danger and he was fine, nothing was going to hurt him, _she_ wasn’t going to hurt him. Releasing the tight grip he had on his knees, watching as his knuckles went from white to their usual pale pink colour, Loki turned his head slightly. She hadn’t changed much, appearance wise. She was still absolutely beautiful, her wavy thick hair around her shoulders, pulled back by a black tie. Her dark brown eyes were different, though, older. There was so much reflecting in those eyes that Loki had to turn away, had to take a deep breath, because he could _feel_ her pain.

            She didn’t move, didn’t take her eyes off of him as she waited for him to relax. Loki could feel a pang of annoyance at that, because did they all think he would break if they so much as startled him? But immediately after that thought, Loki deflated some, because they knew that that was the reason. He was risking falling apart with every breath that he took. “What do you want?” He asked, staring at her from the corner of his eye. He could see her tensing some, as well, as though she wasn’t sure of what she was doing, of what she could possibly say. She relaxed a moment later, though, hands going to her hips, not knowing exactly what to do with them. She smoothed her dark green shirt and looked down at her black boots before looking back over to him, clasping her hands tightly together.

            “Forgive me. I did not know you were here,” She answered, voice fighting for the right tone. So much had happened and Loki knew that she was still trying to figure out how she should act towards him. Her voice fought for neutrality, fought to pretend as though their history never happened. It was a losing battle, though, for it shook with the emotion she was trying so hard to conceal.

            Loki didn’t say anything back, unsure of how he should respond – if he even should. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they would cross paths again, before they would reunite once more, but Loki had thought that he would have more time. He had only just gotten back a while ago and he was still trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. But she was standing there, looking beautiful and wondrous and Loki could still _feel_ , even though he didn’t know what it meant or how he should respond. He only knew that he remembered how he felt around her, could remember the joy – no matter how foreign it seemed now – and the happiness and the absolute bliss that the mere sight of her could bring. “Would you like to sit, Lady Sif?” She didn’t move for a moment, clearly caught off guard by Loki’s question. She must have assumed that he’d ask her to leave or to get up and make a quick escape like he did last time. He wouldn’t run this time – couldn’t. So much had been taken from him, so much had been ripped from his very being, and now was the chance to at least take back some of it. He had to at least try. And so he turned to her and said, “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” because he knew that she was going to question it, knew that she was being careful and hesitant and he didn’t want any of that, because as much as he was hurt and broken and torn apart bit by bit, he didn’t forget and he knew that _that_ wasn’t Sif.

            There was no more hesitation after that. She walked over and knelt down in front of Loki, had sat on her knees and stared at him with tears in her eyes. Her body was tense and her hands were clenched in tight fists on her knees, but she didn’t move to touch him, had merely sat there before him and stared hard at him, a combination of pain and anger on her face, as though she was terrified of what had happened to him, but furious at what had happened between them, at their bitter end. But she didn’t say anything. And the longer she sat there, the heavier the tears became, because they soon fell down her face, trails dampening her cheeks, flushing them. And they hurt Loki; hurt knowing that he was the cause of them. But it was a different kind of hurt. It wasn’t like the hurt he felt when he was around mother or Thor. This hurt cut deeper, because he knew that their pain – his and Sif’s – was deeper. She had suffered when he … fell. She had been left alone so suddenly, had had her heart ripped from her chest when the Bifrost broke and he had disappeared into the nothingness of the Void. She had mourned and she had suffered and grieved and had to find a way to keep on going when he was ripped from her life.

            Without thinking, without _allowing_ himself the chance to think, Loki reached forward and brushed his thumb across her cheek. Sif let out a shaky breath, her eyes closing and her own hand coming up, folding over Loki’s. She leaned into his touch, even more tears falling down her face at the show of affection. Perhaps she knew of his … issues, of the haunts that continued to hang over him, of the fears and the insecurities and the little things that caused him to shatter, because she didn’t do anything else. Her body shook and Loki knew that she was fighting for control, and he briefly wondered if he would even care if she were to throw her arms around him and cry into his neck. A tiny whimper broke from deep within her throat and his hand curled around the back of her neck as he pushed himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, casting the thought aside, because in that moment, he didn’t care. That whimper turned into a heart-broken sob as Sif fell against Loki, her arms grabbing the fabric of his clothes, bringing him closer and closer. Her entire body shook as she let it all out. And Loki cried with her, holding her and rocking her and just _being_ there, for once comforting instead of being comforted. It made him feel like _him_ for the first time in so long.

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Loki whispered over and over again, his voice quivering and shaking, his heart lodged painfully in his throat, because he was – for everything. “I’m sorry.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            Leaning against the bark of the tree, Loki sighed deeply, his eyes closed, his hand slowly gliding through dark brown hair. He felt at peace – as crazy as it sounded after all that he had been through – as though he could actually breathe and not fear for surprises, for hands reaching out of the darkness and grabbing a hold of him, pulling him back into the panic and the nothingness. It was nice and it was relaxing and it had everything to do with the woman who was lying beside him, her head cushioned in Loki’s lap. They hadn’t said much to each other. After their tears and Loki’s apologies, they’d just held each other, revelling in the feel and the comfort of one another. Now they were there, sitting in silence, Sif dozing in his lap while Loki tried to figure out where it left the two of them. Biting his bottom lip, Loki opened his eyes and looked down at the woman, at the gentle rises and falls of her chest, of how her features were soft and rested, as though she had not a care in the world. In a way, he was jealous – _oh_ , how he _wished_ he could find that peace, a place where he wasn’t haunted by memories and nightmares of his not so distant past.

            They’d been there for hours, sitting against the tree in front of the pond. Loki suspected that he had at least a few more hours before Thor came looking for him. He wondered if his brother would grow fearful if he came to Loki’s room and saw that he wasn’t in there. The mere idea of the panic on Thor’s face when he realised that his brother was gone made Loki’s heart leap slightly in his chest, had him briefly considering waking Sif up and running back to his room, because he didn’t want to be the cause of Thor’s anguish, too. His heart was already heavy enough with Sif – knowing that he would hurt his brother, too, was almost too much for him to bear. But Loki forced himself to calm down, to breathe in and out, and to not allow his thoughts drive him. The whole point of leaving his chambers and coming outside to the pond was to get _away_ from Thor, to get away from mother, to let himself feel and panic and not put up a façade to shield himself from all that he was experiencing, because moving on wasn’t an option, moving on wasn’t something that he could do, because he didn’t know _how_.

            Loki didn’t realise that he had tensed up, that his entire body had frozen and stiffened until Sif stirred, her head lifting from his lap, sending him a puzzled look. The anxiety must have shown on his face, because she was then sitting up. Her movements were too quick, though, and Loki could feel the alarm building within him, causing his breath to hitch and his entire body to lurch up, stumbling to his feet and moving away from the tree. The world started spinning and he wanted to just fall on the ground and sob like the pathetic fool that he was, because _of course_ this would happen now. Exhaling a sharp breath that almost sounded like a whimper, Loki held up his hand when he saw that Sif was getting ready to approach. He couldn’t deal with her concern, couldn’t handle the desperation in her dark brown eyes, because he had to get it together, couldn’t deal with any of it.

            “Gods …” Loki gasped out, his voice shaking. He could feel the terror rising, could feel his eyes brimming with tears, and the very thought of getting ready to cry again made him choke up, made a few fall down his face, racing down his cheeks. Who was he kidding? It was bound to happen eventually. Thinking that he had independence … thinking he had a chance to move on and put what happened to him behind, it was an insane thought, insane case of false hope. Loki hated himself all the more. He was changed, broken, _ruined_ , and there was nothing he could do on his own now, because he would always be fearful, would always be on edge, would always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for the moment when the weights around his ankles would give and he would be dragged down, _down, down._

            “Loki, please, you must relax,” Sif called from where she was. Tears were standing in her eyes, her hands outstretched to him, as though she wanted to close the distance between them and wrap him up, protect him, make him feel as though everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t, and the thought of her wanting to do that made a surge of anger overwhelm him, because she was _seeing_ this, because she was unknowingly making him feel weaker and more pathetic than he already was. “Please, you’re –”

            “Thor – I need Thor,” Loki forced himself to say, trying desperately to rid his voice of the tremble. His hand had gripped a tree that was a few feet from the one they were just leaning against, his knees wobbling, his legs threatening to give out on him. And they did, not a few seconds later. The sob ripped from him then, because _Gods_ how much further could he fall now? He fell right on his bottom, the sudden stop jarring him, making him see shadows jumping and shifting in his peripheral vision, causing his heart to thrum wildly in his chest, beating furiously against his rib-cage.

            “Loki –”

            “Please, I need him! Please get Thor, please, please,” He begged, his knees pulled to his chest. He watched the tears fall from her eyes as she turned around and ran back towards the Palace. And then she was gone and all Loki could think about was the pain and the fear and the utter helplessness that was threatening to smother him.

_They were hurting her. Unwanted hands were touching her body and she was pleading with them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t stop touching her, violating her, and he couldn’t stop them from hurting her. Ropes bound him to that cursed rock, wrapped tightly around his limbs, cutting into his skin and keeping him immobile, and he couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear the scuffle, could hear the whimpers and the sobs and the pleads and her grunts as she tried to fight._

_The sound of a fist crashing into a body was heard, the sound of a fight filling the air and he gave a muffled cheer, because he could feel her, knew that she was winning, gaining ground, and then the sound of light footsteps were heard, running, and he knew she was getting away. Growls and hisses and the thunderous sounds of several other sets of feet were running after her and he tried to pick his head up to look, to see if she was okay, but the ropes around his neck and along his forehead kept his head tied down to the rock. He fought for a bit before he tried to search for her from the corner of his eye and then he heard it – the sharp, frightened scream of being tackled to the ground._

_Screaming through the gag, he tried to pull their attention away from her and back to him, but they ignored him. Tears were streaming down his face and he thought he would die, because he had no time to breathe through all of the crying and the screaming and the overwhelming sense of panic that was just gripping at him, weighing him down so heavily. He started thrashing against his bindings when he heard fabric being ripped, when he heard the sound of her terrified cries, because they both knew what was going to happen to her, and they both knew that there was nothing at all that could save her from that fate. And that was the scariest part._

            Her screaming and the millions of things he wanted to say and do was trapped in his head in a relentless cycle that kept playing and replaying over and over and over and over and over again and nothing could break it, nothing could stop the panic and the fear and the desperation and the stench of utter terror that permeated the air, hot and heavy and thick and so impenetrable that Loki was sure that there was no escaping it ever. And perhaps he never would, because it was so real and he could still hear everything, could sense everything, could remember choking on his tears and he could remember the hisses of laughter that _they_ gave throughout the entire process. He could remember – “Loki” – how they had grabbed a hold of him and wrapped a cloth around his face, the fabric so dark that he couldn’t see through it, but he could _smell_ it and he remembered screaming through the gag, because it was _hers_ – “Loki” – that they used to blind him. She ran and couldn’t get away and they were punishing the both of them and – “ _Loki!_ ”

            Emerald green eyes snapped open, lurching back against the immovable tree that he was sitting against. It took him a moment to gather his surroundings, to blink through the thickness of his tears and the memory that he was fighting to free himself from. But then he saw him – _beacon, saviour, brother, brother, brother_ – and Loki could feel his throat tightening as emotion took over, and he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut again when he felt the warmth of Thor’s hand as he gently clasped it over the back of his neck and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling persistently from his face. He shook his head when he heard the soft shushes and grabbed a hold of Thor’s wrist, forcing himself to look into those sparkling blue eyes, because he had to have the answers.

            “What is wrong with me?” Loki whimpered, feeling himself rocking back and forth, unable to sit still, unable to calm down and relax against his brother’s warm, comforting presence. Would there ever be a change? Would there ever be a moment when he could relax and not have to worry about pain and suffering? Was it possible to just die, to put an end to all of it? The tears fell and his body shook and Loki didn’t once take his eyes from his brother’s worried, yet confused expression. “Why can’t I stop …” His shoulders shook violently as he broke down and cried and he leaned into Thor’s embrace when those massive arms wrapped around his shoulders, bringing him closer. His brother was safe and Loki cried harder into his chest, because he was shielded and protected and he knew that Thor would look out for him.

            “You’ll be fine,” Thor whispered over and over again, pressing a kiss to the side of his head before resting his cheek against it. He gently rocked along with Loki, but while his was out of necessity, to stem the panic, Thor’s was more comforting and his slow motions were enough to ease Loki and all his fears. “I promise, brother, that everything will be well in time.”

            And Loki wanted to believe him more than anything, but Thor was oblivious to his cries of help, oblivious to how he screamed when Thor was around and screamed when he was gone, how he yearned for his mother, and needed her smile and loving hands holding onto him. He needed Sif and hated himself for hurting her. He needed her dark brown eyes and her very presence. He needed and wanted and prayed for them, but he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and nothing would ever be the same again and he hated _them_ for hurting him, for breaking him, for making him need and want and pray for their love and safety and affection and protection, because that was the only thing that was keeping him alive now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            The blankets were pulled up to his neck, his body curled onto his side with his head cushioned into the soft pillows that littered his bed. Loki had no desire to get out of bed, had no desire to eat or to sleep or to move around or do anything for fear of having another attack, for slipping into his nightmares and terrors, for falling helpless _again_ , for having to be rescued _again_ , for needing Thor and needing his mother and needing to feel that security, because he couldn’t find it himself. Loki had refused seeing his mother for the first week and had outright told Thor that he didn’t want to hear about Sif, didn’t want to know how she was doing or what she was thinking about him – if she was even thinking about him, but it was a foolish point, because he knew that she was. He couldn’t handle that, couldn’t stand to see the tears in her eyes or the desire to heal him or fix him, because it wasn’t going to happen. Loki was too damaged, too _ruined_ to be repaired. The old Loki was gone, being replaced by one that he couldn’t even recognise. His entire being was ripped away bit by bit until a shell was all that remained, and _they_ moulded him and made him into something that was weaker and more inclined to _kneel_ and submit.

            He could barely breathe half the time and the only times he could relax was when Thor was around or Frigga. Their calming, soothing presence was enough to keep the fear and the hallucinations at bay long enough for Loki to get a grip on them, to remember that he wasn’t actually _there_ , that he was safe from the pain and the torture and the unbearable agony that had been with him for so long. He was so exhausted and he was so tired. Sometimes Loki cried, unable to keep the despair and the desperation and the hopelessness under reins, unable to pretend as though he would be okay, as though there was a solution, a way to heal his broken body and mind. Thor was there for him then, being a constant presence that shielded him and held onto him and made everything better – or at least more manageable. He briefly thought back to the time just a few weeks ago when he had been brought back to Asgard in chains and a muzzle. Oh, how he had _hated_ Thor, wanting nothing more than to hurt him for all that he had done to him, for being the perfect son, the light to his darkness, the one that everyone adored and admired and strove to become. But now he hated himself for ever thinking that way, because if there was one thing that came from his own anguish, it was the fact that Thor was there with him now. Despite everything that they had been through together, despite all of the hurtful words and the fights that left them both battered and bruised, Thor was there, holding him and comforting him, and taking care of him when Loki neglected to do it for himself.

            Loki forgot half the time of the toll that it must take on his brother, of the worry and the stress that must be on his shoulders. Slowly rolling around, turning his body the opposite way, Loki stared at the sleeping form of his brother. He was taking up half the bed, his arms and legs spread out in all different directions, his golden blonde hair a halo around his head, lips parted just barely, enough for Loki to see wisps of his hair fluttering with each exhalation he gave. The sight alone made Loki relax some. Thor looked so young and so at peace, and it was enough for Loki to melt deeper into the soft sheets and blankets that covered the bed, because if he couldn’t find that peace in himself then at least he could try to take some of it from his brother. He could remember times when they were younger, how he would always sneak into Thor’s room late at night after a nightmare. He could remember how Thor would scoot over with a tired smile on his face and an arm held out, ready and waiting to take him in his arms and hold him for the rest of the night. The memory, so warm and so deep, was enough to bring tears to Loki’s eyes, made him wrap his arms around himself to keep from waking Thor, because he needed that and he wanted that and he would do anything to see that tired smile on Thor’s face, to see him open his arms and pull him close. He knew that Thor would do it, too, in a heart-beat. But that was the exact reason why Loki couldn’t, because he couldn’t keep living like that. He couldn’t continue to rely on Thor to keep the nightmares at bay. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to put that type of pressure on Thor.

            Exhaling slowly, Loki closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Thor’s heart-beat, listened to the steady rhythm and worked to match it. Perhaps if he did, he wouldn’t feel as restless, wouldn’t feel as though at any moment, something or someone would take hold of him and drag him down, return him to the hell he had finally escaped from. He kept his eyes closed and thought of Thor, thought of his smile, thought of the feelings that he developed and clung to whenever Thor was close by. It took longer than he would have liked – and he had started to doubt that he would ever be able to find comfort – but finally, Loki could feel himself start to settle, could feel his limbs unwind and ease in a more soothing position. Loki could feel his entire body finally responding to the exhaustion, could feel how shifting closer to his brother tired him out more than anything had in over a week. And it was a good feeling, one that Loki craved, because if he was too tired to even move anymore, he would be too tired to dream, to remember past horrors, to relive nightmare after nightmare, terror after terror. He needed that. He needed that more than anything. With one last effort, Loki forced himself to reach out, to gentle take hold of Thor’s right hand and keep it close. If, by chance, he was unable to keep the creatures from haunting him, perhaps Thor – _saviour, beacon, brother, brother, brother_ – and his warmth and comfort and protection could guide him through it and bring him back to consciousness. So he listened to Thor’s heart-beat and allowed it to lull him to sleep.

-x- -x- -x-

            His entire body felt as though it was floating and, for a moment, Loki didn’t know if he was even alive or not before he heard the voices drifting towards him. Clinging to those voices, he followed them, not knowing who they belonged to just yet, but knowing that they sounded familiar and safe and reassuring and heartening and Loki wanted, _wanted, wanted_.  He could feel the pull and when he realised that he was starting to wake, Loki tried to retreat, because where he was, it was a place he didn’t want to leave just yet. He wasn’t afraid there, wasn’t worried or anxious or paranoid or startled. The floor wouldn’t open up under him and take him away and the movements all around him wouldn’t shift too quickly, snapping him back to a place that only offered pain and misery. But the voices, they felt good, and Loki finally stopped the struggle to remain in the cocoon of blissfulness and allowed himself to be drawn to them, and as he got closer and closer, their voices grew until Loki could recognise them – mother, _Thor_.

            “How is he?” Frigga asked. She sounded near, as though she was sitting close. Loki felt a pressure on his arm and for once, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away in fear of pain following. Her voice sounded full of worry, though, and Loki felt a soft pang deep, deep down, because he knew that he was the cause of her concern. “He does not speak much to me now,” The sorrow in her tone was slight, as though she understood the reasons and knew of the state he was in, but was ultimately upset at being kept in the dark. The pang grew to a low pulse, but he was still floating about between the brinks of sleep and wakefulness, and could not think much more of what that meant.

            But Thor was speaking now and Loki could feel the overwhelming weight of warmth and heat and safety and his heart was swelling and – _Thor, Thor, Thor_ – he revelled in it as the voices moved farther and farther away. “I fear I do not know much, only that he needs me,” Thor said. He was quiet, not wanting to talk loudly for fear of waking Loki, but Loki was there and needed to hear him, needed to feel the vibrations his voice sent. It was a beautiful sound that brought about a sense of wondrous contentment. “I wish I knew,” _You don’t_ , Loki wanted to scream, wanted to wrap his arms around his brother and hold him, protect him from what he’d been through, because the horrors would hurt him and break him just like they did Loki. His body jolted some and he could feel an arm wrap around him, pulling him up the bed and against a heavy frame, one that produced such heat that Loki didn’t need to open his eyes to know that it was Thor.

            They were quiet for a long while after that and Loki wished to know more of their conversation, to hear their voices, but the silence and the heat was starting to pull him back into that blissful haven that kept his despair and fears away. But just when he felt the claim of sleep, his mother’s voice drifted back. This time her voice sounded nostalgic and sentimental, as though she was speaking one thing, but her mind was elsewhere, living in a memory that brought happiness and filled her with such love. Loki wished he could feel that again. “Even when you were younger, you both knew to protect each other,” The grip she still had on his arm tightened some, and Loki could feel himself wishing control over his body so he could lean into her touch. “I only wish that I could end his suffering.”

            “He will heal, mother,” Thor said and the conviction in his voice was enough to make Loki want to cry, because even though he wanted to believe it so badly, he knew that it would never happened, because he was too damaged and broken. But Thor believed it, so Loki could pretend. “I know that he will. And we will be there for him. I will not abandon him again.”

            And Loki knew that he wouldn’t, not ever.

            “He will never be the same, Thor,” Mother spoke. The pain was evident; Loki could feel it even in his state, so he knew that Thor could, too. “Whatever happened to him … it broke him, traumatised him. We must be patient and accept who he has become now,” Her grip on his arm tightened once more, as though she could feel him pull from sleep, as though she could feel the swirling of emotions that were starting to take over again. She was right – she was always right. “I need not have to ask, but promise me that you’ll never leave him, Thor. Promise me that you’ll protect him and save him from himself should he not find his way. I cannot –” Frigga stopped abruptly, and Loki could hear an intake of breath, as though she could not even say the words that were on the tip of her tongue. His hand twitched, sleep surrendering to his will, relinquishing its grip from him. “I cannot bear to lose him again. I will not survive it.”

            Shifting his head some, Loki buried his nose in the crook of Thor’s neck. It calmed him, relaxed him, helped him process what was being said better. He did not wish to open his eyes, did not wish to see the look of worry on their faces, the tears that no doubt stood in their eyes. Thor’s arms around him tightened, drawing him closer. Thor rocked him gently, as though hoping to lull him back to sleep. “On my life, brother, I promise to keep you from harm. You will get better, you will get past this. I promise you,” He whispered and, for a moment, for that one moment, Loki believed him, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            “How are you feeling today?” Her voice was soft and gentle with a hint of amusement, as though she knew that he was awake and didn’t want anyone to know. But she was his mother and she knew his tricks, knew his ploys when it came to harmlessly deceiving those around him. Of course, that would be all that she knew of. Loki shuddered at the thought of her knowing anything else, of uncovering just how much of a bad person he was. It would break her heart in more ways than one, and the thought caused his own heart to ache, a pressure weighing down on his chest, threatening to choke him, but this time, Loki did not panic, because he deserved it after all that he had done, after all of the pain and all of the suffering that he had put others through just to make himself feel better about the horror of a truth he had discovered – that he was a monster that parents told their children about at night. Squeezing his eyes shut, swallowing past the lump in his throat, Loki curled up, wanting more than anything to slip into that place of neutrality, into that place where he felt nothing. He would need Thor for that and, with the way that he was feeling – cold and heavy – Loki knew that he wasn’t there, that he had left, and he tried not to take it personally, tried not to take it as though he didn’t want to be around him anymore, that he had better things that he could be doing with his time. “My love, you must open your eyes now.”

            Loki didn’t say anything nor did he open his eyes. What was the point? His body ached still and he knew that it would be quite some time before he felt like his old self – physically, anyway, because Loki knew that he would never be the same mentally or emotionally. Too much had happened. All he wanted to do was remain in bed, to forget and be forgotten, to linger in a place where he knew he’d be safe and looked after, because despite how much Loki hated to admit it, that was all he wanted at the moment. He knew that mother would watch over him and he knew – he _hoped_ – that Thor would be there to chase off the horrors that continued to plague his mind and haunt his dreams. So, burying his face into the pillow his head was currently cushioned on and pulling the blankets and furs further up his body, Loki shook his head and curled into a tight ball. “Not today, mother,” He murmured, hoping that she would take the hint and let him be, hoping that she could see that he was in no condition or mood to leave.

            He heard her sigh quietly, heard her put down whatever it was that she was holding, and move towards the bed, and he hoped that she wouldn’t make a huge deal of this, wouldn’t pressure him and push him. He swallowed thickly when she gently took his hand, her soft hands folding over his, holding it closely. Loki didn’t know if she was using magic or if it was just her, but the warmth that spread through his body was enough to help him relax some, to ease the tension throughout his entire body. Releasing a sigh of his own, Loki opened his eyes and stared up at her, tears brimming at the edge, threatening to fall. Loki didn’t question it, though, and neither did Frigga. Tears were a constant, something that either happened or didn’t. It was hard for Loki to control any aspect of his life now that he had returned to Asgard, and he was just tired of trying to fight it, tired of trying to figure out how to stop his body from failing him. “My love, I need you to get up today,” Frigga whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hand. Her voice was steady this time, with no trace of hesitation. Her voice was firm and Loki knew that there must be a reason, otherwise, she wouldn’t push it, wouldn’t make him leave whatever little sanctuary he found underneath those blankets.

            “Why?” He asked. He tried to ignore the shaking of his own voice, tried to ignore the way a few tears slipped at how vulnerable he sounded. And he hated that. Before, no-one would associate Loki with crying, with showing such weakness before others, but now … now it was a miracle if he made it through the day without a tear falling down his cheek. Of course, it was just a reminder of how broken he was, of how damaged and _ruined_ he truly was now. So he stared up at his mother and fought the wave of emotion that was starting to build and build and build. There was no use for tears now, no use for emotion. There was no need to feel dread increasing and intensifying at the mere thought of leaving the bed, no need to want to bury deeper under the blankets and wish he’d just disappear.

            She brushed a hand through his hair and his eyes fell closed at the contact. She and Thor were the only ones that he could allow being so close to him, the only ones that he could trust enough to close his eyes and not fear betrayal and pain. Her hands felt like warm feathers ghosting over his skin, and Loki found himself leaning into the touch, his entire body moving towards his mother. She was compassion and she was love and she would tend to him and make him feel as though he could heal and – possibly, one day – be whole again. But those warm hands soon disappeared, his hand falling to his side when she let it go. His eyes opened wide and he watched her move about his room, cleaning and tidying up, even though the room was spotless, everything exactly where it should be. “Your father’s sleep has ended, my son. Asgard must know their second Prince has returned to us.”

            Loki opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him. He slowly – because that was the only way he could do anything for his bones were too fragile and too shaken for anything faster – pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes following his mother about the room. She said nothing more and she didn’t look back at him, to gage his reaction or to see how he was taking the news. He should have been grateful for the privacy that she was giving him, but Loki found that he was … _angry_ … that he was angry and afraid and the centuries upon centuries of resentment were crashing down all around him, filling him with the bitterness and the abandonment that he had felt his entire life. And he was angry that he was feeling that way, angry that the mere look of his mother made him feel as though she was trying to make up for what the AllFather – _not my father, never my father_ – neglected him for so long. She never took sides, always comforted him when he was feeling alone and that also sent waves upon waves of pain slamming into him, because she could never feel his heart-ache. Tears built up until they fell from his eyes, his legs working to support him as he climbed out of the bed and made his way to the wash-room, because this was all _pity_. She pitied him, because of what happened to him. They all pitied him, because he was never _Thor_. And now the AllFather wished to showcase his return, as though _he_ was the one who saved him, as though _he_ cared. And to show that compassion, that concern, he was addressing the people instead of coming to him, to see for himself if Loki was all right. Instead of checking on him and acting like the father he always claimed to be, _he_ was showing off the return of his _stolen relic._

            Frigga did or said nothing when he trashed the wash-room and did or said nothing when she quietly came into the room and cleaned up the mess, leaving behind clothes that matched the occasion. Loki silently dared her to say something, to address his still falling tears, to say something about how he lost control – though he had never had it to begin with – and destroyed the small room. She didn’t say anything, and Loki didn’t know if that angered him or relieved him, because he didn’t want to have to explain the reasoning behind his outburst, didn’t want to have to explain why he was crying, why his chest was heaving, as though he had a scream on his lips, bubbling in his throat, just waiting to be released. He didn’t know if that angered him or relieved him, because she wasn’t _saying anything_ , because she wasn’t consoling him or even looking at him, wasn’t even questioning the reasons for his tears or the reasons for him trashing the wash-room. She cleaned, left him his clothes, and silently went back into the main room, knowing that he would dress and come out and follow her to wherever it was the AllFather wished for him to be. And after several minutes of trying to pull himself together – and failing – after several minutes of him wiping the tears from his face and trying to calm the racing of his heart, the trembling of his limbs, Loki did dress and he did slowly come out of the wash-room. He did follow her out of his room, did follow her down the hallway, and she kept her pace slow, but also ahead of him, as though she knew that he would want to be alone, would want to think.

            And that was another thing that was tearing him apart, because she wasn’t giving him _time_ to _think_ , time to reason what was happening, time to even prepare himself for having to face the AllFather after what happened the last time they were in the same room together. He could still feel the pain, could still remember how the AllFather had placed his hand upon his head and _took, took, took_ from him, stealing his memories, stealing his nightmares. What was the purpose of that, because it surely wasn’t just to uncover the truth for why he did what he did on Midgard? It was no mystery that they never got along, no mystery that the AllFather had always favoured his heir more so than Loki. Was that the purpose – to take his memories, his thoughts, and use them against him? The list of what the AllFather could do with his thoughts and memories were endless, and Loki had no idea that he had stopped walking until Frigga’s face came into view, until her worried, almost frightened eyes came into focus. She was saying something to him, but Loki merely shook his head, not even bothering to decipher her words, which sounded too far away. He merely shook his head and continued walking, his entire body aching and throbbing and his head swimming with so many frantic, panicked thoughts that Loki didn’t even hear Thor approach him until he placed a hand on his shoulder, and that wasn’t warning enough for Loki gasped, his heart leaping wildly in his throat as he tore himself away, pressing himself against the wall, his eyes wide, shining brightly with fear and panic, heart hammering wildly in his chest, so loudly that he was sure that they could hear it from where they were standing so close to him.

            “Loki, brother, I –” Thor started, and Loki could see that he instantly regretted his actions, regretted not getting his attention before startling him, but he was too angry, too irate and shocked and furious. Loki didn’t give Thor the chance to finish what he was going to say, didn’t give him the chance to apologise before he was pushing off of the wall and pressing his hands against Thor’s massive chest, shoving him back as hard as he possibly could. And though Thor didn’t go far at all – a step back, maybe, but that was it – he looked hurt by Loki’s actions, looked hurt that he would push him away.

            “Don’t ever do that to me again, Thor!” Loki shouted, his chest heaving and heaving and his fists clenched into tight balls at his sides and he could hear the roaring of the Asgardians from the opened windows, but he gave them no mind, because Thor had scared him, had shocked him so greatly and that wasn’t supposed to happen, because he was supposed to be warmth and comfort – _saviour, beacon, brother, brother, brother_. But he was confused and he was angry – _so angry_ – and he had little patience for Thor’s apologies, for his pleas for forgiveness. They had no idea what he had been through, had no idea what _they_ did to him. And he voiced that, screamed that in their faces, his outburst startling Frigga and shocking Thor into silence. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sif slowly walking towards him, though she stopped several paces back, not wanting to get in between them, not wanting to anger Loki further. He paid her no mind, though. His anger was fuelled and directed at his _family_. “You _know_ you can’t do that to me, you stupid oaf!”

            “ _Please_ , Loki, I did not mean to!” Thor exclaimed, and he took a tentative step towards him, but immediately stopped when Loki took a step back, another wave of anger crashing down around him, because he couldn’t even stand up to Thor, couldn’t even handle confrontation _why did he even start it why did he even snap they’ll ask questions they’ll want to know_. “Please … I forgot –”

            Snorting, trying his hardest to ignore the way a sob broke through, shaking his shoulders and causing his throat to ache painfully so, Loki gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. _Of course_ , he would forget. _Of course_ , he would push aside the pain and the suffering that Loki went through because it benefited him, because Thor didn’t like to think about anything happening to his _perfect_ family, didn’t like to think that anything could possibly be wrong in his world. It was all about him, wasn’t it? “You forgot that they tore me apart? You forgot that they ripped me to pieces? _You forgot that they tortured me and ruined me and broke me! You forgot that, Thor!_ ” Loki screamed out, delirious in his anger, delirious in his panic and pain and he had no idea that he had closed the distance between them and was slamming his fists into Thor’s chest, against his face, against any part of his body that he could inflict pain.

            But then Thor was wrapping his arms around Loki and Loki felt as though his heart was going to just explode with how panicked he suddenly felt, with how he felt as though it was _them_ wrapping their arms around him, ready to restrain him, ready to hurt him, ready to inflict more and more pain and suffering, making him beg and plead for mercy and then the screams of the Asgardians outside, awaiting the return of their second Prince, morphed into something darker, something that had yet to stop haunting him. Giving a strangled shout, cursing Thor to release him, Loki stumbled back against the wall and immediately sunk down it, his hands to his ears, trying his best to block out – trying to block it _all_ out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

_They laugh at his pain – that’s all they ever did. He wasn’t surprised, though. Why else would they take him and hurt him and rip him to pieces? They wanted this,_ enjoyed _this, wanted to see him scream, wanting to hear his cries and pleas and the ridiculous bargains he begged for. Hurting him was their enjoyment and they did it well._

_A rally had formed, surrounded him and the five that were always with him, laughing and screaming, calling for more blood, shouting for more torment. But it seemed as though they had other plans, because they untied him, pulled the ropes that had embedded themselves in his flesh from him, removed the gagged that they’d forced in his mouth. They threw him to the ground and he didn’t even try to hide how difficult it was for him to pull himself to his knees, because … well, why? If it didn’t seem like he was hurt then they would_ make _him hurt. It was as simple as that._

_A creature had stepped forward, the crowd parting and cheering all the more and he vomited, threw up bile until there wasn’t anything else left in his stomach to expel. He gasped for air and scurried back, tears falling down his face, because he_ knew _him, knew what and who he was, what he would do to him. Those bright eyes and that purple face … he was only myth, only legend, only something that came centuries upon centuries upon centuries ago to take over the Nine and he failed and he was back and –_

_“Are you ready, fallen Prince?”_

            Loki could hear their voices – could hear the worry and the panic and the tears and the heart-ache in their pleading voices – but none of them made any sense. He could recognise who was speaking, who was crying, who was calling for help. He could distinguish who was holding him – _dark brown eyes, Sif, Sif, Sif_ – and who was petting his hair, cupping his face, tapping his cheeks, trying to get him to look at them, to see them, to know that he was okay, that he was fine, that he was safe, but he couldn’t. It was as though his entire body froze, leaving him paralysed. His mind, too, for he could only hear them, feel them. His eyes were screwed up tight – the colours exploding all around him was evident enough to that – and his chest was heaving, but he had no control, had no way of letting them know that he could hear them, that he was _there_. It was as though he couldn’t catch his breath, as though he couldn’t breathe. The weight and pressure on his chest was too much to bear this time, too extreme, too heavy, and he was dizzy, light-headed, his head throbbing, and he couldn’t _breathe_ , couldn’t get the oxygen into his lungs. Was he dying? Was this what dying felt like? After all of the pain and the anguish and the torment, after all of the suffering that he was put through, was _this_ dying?

            But then their voices faded, their frantic calls to him morphing into something else, something darker. Their calls were morphing into something that promised pain, promised agony, promised more suffering and more anguish and grief. His shoulders shook, his entire body shook and trembled and quivered and he was falling back into the nightmares again, was slipping and –

_His breath was coming out in short, panicked gasps, hands pushing him back, forcing him back into the little circle that they had him in, preventing him from running and hiding and disappearing like he wanted to so badly. The creature – the bringer of destruction and devastation, the one who wished to take the whole Nine – was staring down at him, smiling cruelly, as though he had found what he was looking for._

_And then he was grabbed. With speed he had no idea the creature possessed, he soon found his upper arms grabbed, thick purple fingers pressing deeply into his skin, long jagged nails cutting into his already broken skin, drawing more blood. He whimpered and squirmed, awaiting the pain, awaiting the sharp blows and the shocking pierce of knives and rocks. But none of it came – not yet._

_“You will be useful to me,” The creature spoke, voice deep and dark and –_

            “Loki! Loki, please open your eyes!”

            “Brother, you are well, I give you my word!”

            “Look at me! Please, I can’t lose you again! Please, _look at me_!”

            “No … no, please leave me alone,” Loki cried, body spasming, body jerking from the hands that were around him, pushing back at their touches and their pets. “Please, just let me die, just –” He felt dizzy, felt like his entire world was thrown off. He didn’t know where he was or who was around him, didn’t know if he was alive or dead, if he was safe or if he was in danger. It felt like danger. If what he was feeling was any indication at all, he was in danger. Sweat covered his skin, breath ragged and erratic, and he couldn’t see, couldn’t calm down enough to think, to act. All he could do was scream and cry and swat at the hands that tried to restrain him, that tried to hold him down, because they would only hurt, would only make him bleed and gurgle on his own blood until he fell unconscious. And then it would start all over again until they had their fill.

            There was movement all around him, voices that blurred together and made no sense in his ears. Loki shifted against the hard surface he was leaning against, the act taking more out of him than he thought possible. Then again, he _was_ weak and he _was_ pathetic and he broke far easier than the rest of his _family_. Despair bubbled to the surface and Loki did nothing to hide the sorrow that filled him, did nothing to hide the agony and the years and years and years of neglect and abandonment and anger and pain and he cried and let it all out, because there was no point in hiding it, in letting it fester inside of him, because it would be extracted anyway. They would make sure of that. They would make sure he begged and pleaded for death before they decimated him entirely, before they reduced him to the nothing he already knew himself to be.

            A new set of hands were holding his face now, and Loki gave a strangled cry, one that was a combination of fear and of the sobs that were still wracking through his body, still making him shake and tremble. He shook his head and pushed the hands away, but then they grasped his wrists, the grip tight and firm, and Loki screamed out in fear, because they would restrain him now. They would get ropes or chains or vines – or all three – and they would wrap it around his body, would truss him up and leave him there to be hurt and wrecked, knowing that he couldn’t move, couldn’t run away –

            _He’d said no, had refused out of fear and out of a sense of loyalty that made no sense anymore._

_They didn’t care about him, didn’t worry about where he was or what was happening to him. They didn’t care if he came back or not. But it still hurt to think about, still ripped into his heart and twisted things around, the pain sharp and gut-wrenching and he had to stay loyal, because maybe they would take him back and love him again – or at least pretend to love him again._

_The creature with the piercing eyes and the purple face – bringer of destruction and devastation – was still holding him, staring at him with an expression that he couldn’t even decipher. But he knew pain would soon follow. And it did._

_Thrown to the ground, a heavy foot landed on his back, cracking and breaking ribs, his lungs protesting as he screamed and squirmed, trying to ease the pain, trying to get pressure off of the bones that had snapped and had broken through the skin. He couldn’t, though. The pressure on his back, the weight, it was holding him down, and he could feel fresh tears falling down his face at the agony that was ripping through his body, spasming and throbbing and blinding his vision._

_They laughed at his pain, laughed at the anguish that was written all over his face. They grabbed his arms and pulled. They pulled until his arms were mere inches from being pulled completely out of the sockets, and then they started to beat the area with rocks. Skin was shredded and they twisted and jerked at his wrists and they broke his arms and then … then they yanked his arms completely out of the sockets. They laughed at the pain and pressed his head into the dirty ground, muffling off the screams, making him swallow and choke on the dirt and the grime that covered the ground. They moved to his legs and continued to break him –_

            He was crying. He had no idea when he had finally come out of the nightmare, when he finally became aware that he was safe, that he wasn’t in their hands anymore, that he wouldn’t get hurt and suffer for their enjoyment. One second he was reliving it and the next … in the next he was wrapped up in someone’s arms, warmth surrounding him and making him feel as though he was going to be all right. He blinked, trying to see past the tears that were shielding his wandering gaze, and then furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Before him was Thor – tears were falling down his face, eyes puffy and so bright and blue – and Frigga – pale face, expression as controlled and as calm as possible – and Sif – who had a hand to her mouth, eyes full of tears, body shaking. They were there and they hadn’t left him. The anger had long since drained from his body, being replaced by such a substantial amount of exhaustion that just the idea of sitting up on his own strained him. They were there and they hadn’t left him and Loki could feel his chest lessening slightly of the pressure that had built and built and built. But then his mind caught up with him, the paranoia and the fear dying down enough for another question to come to the forefront – whose arms was he in?

            “Loki …” Sif whispered. She slowly got on her knees and reached out even slower, giving Loki enough time to see what she was doing and understand. Without thinking, he unlocked his stiff hand from whosever hand he was hanging onto and met hers halfway, squeezing it tightly. Tears trailing down her cheeks, Sif pressed a kiss to his hand, her hot breath feeling good against his shivering body. “Are you with me?” Loki heard her ask, her voice sounding both far away and close, and he forced himself to remain calm, forced himself to relax and to _hear_ her. He nodded his head, the relief in her eyes enough to make him want to cry, because he had yet again caused her such pain. “You are home, Loki, please see that we won’t let anything more happen to you.”

            “Enough,” A gentle, deep voice came. It was one that was familiar and immediate, one that shocked the life back into Loki, having him jerk up into a sitting position, though he wasn’t able to go far, for those hands locked around his wrists right away, that one eye remaining locked on him. “Enough,” He repeated, softer, quieter, as though it was only meant for Loki. And it was. An arm was wrapped around his waist and he was hoisted up by the AllFather, his strength old and powerful, enough to keep a grip on Loki, despite his fears. Soft words were spoken, but Loki didn’t hear what was being said, too lost in the shock that was the AllFather. He truly didn’t understand what was happening, why he was being so kind to him, why he wasn’t dragging him off to be showcased before the others, why he wasn’t ridiculed and humiliated and then thrown in the dungeons to serve off the remainder of his sentence. Instead, the AllFather led him down the hall, away from his brother and mother and Sif and away from the screaming Asgardians who were still waiting. Loki tried so many times to say something, to ask what was going on, where he was being taken, but no matter how hard he tired, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t get the words out. So he said nothing at all. He walked mutely alongside the AllFather and realised that they were heading towards his room.

            He was put into bed. Emerald green eyes were wide still, unable to look away from the AllFather, unable to comprehend what he was doing or why he was even doing it, but he said nothing and he did nothing as the AllFather rid him of his shoes, pulled the armour from his body, leaving him in only a tunic, the pair of trousers that he was in, and socks. And then the AllFather was sitting down alongside Loki, his arms wrapping him up and pulling him against his broad chest. “No, please,” Loki whimpered, his hands pushing on the AllFather’s arms, a wave of panic washing over him once more, but he was shushed and held gently, his grip strong, but so undemanding, and it stilled Loki’s movements, though his body remained tense and stiff, as though he didn’t understand what was going on. And he truly didn’t, though who would believe a liar?

            “I am so sorry, my son,” He said and the tone of his voice was so unlike anything Loki had ever heard coming from such a strong figure that it gave him pause, made his brows furrow and his mind to frantically search for what was missing. “I never meant to hurt you. That was never my intent, Loki, you must believe me,” His body stiffened even more then, because _that_ was the reason for this, for the _pity_. Pushing himself away from the AllFather, Loki pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face, because he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t deal with the pity and the hurt looks and the fragility that they thought of him as. He couldn’t handle _any_ of it.

            “Leave me be,” Loki found himself saying, shaking his head and jerking away when a hand landed on his arm, because he _didn’t want it_ , didn’t want the pity, didn’t want the skittish looks and the hesitant movements. It was impossible for things to go back to the way that they once were, but Loki could still hope for them, could still pretend as though everything would get better soon enough.

            “I will never leave you again.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After thinking his little brother dead, Thor brings Loki home. But transitioning back to normal can be difficult when said little brother has gone through hell and back.

            The air was cool; the breeze from the ocean wafting through Asgard, blowing the thin layer of curtains that hung over the window. It was nice to Loki, though, who closed his eyes and leaned closer. Perhaps it was a reminder of his true parentage – it was no secret that Loki had always enjoyed the cooler side of Asgard than the unbearable heat of the summer – but he did not care, not in that moment. It was the ninth day in a row where he’d woken up refreshed, free of the nightmares and the horrors that still continued to haunt him and plague his mind. It was the ninth day in a row that he’d surpassed without being reminded of what he had gone through, what he suffered through at _their_ hands. Some days were easy, being spent with Thor or with Frigga, or lounging around with Sif. Some days were easy where it would always be in the back of his mind – because he’d never been able to _not_ think about it, to not be reminded of what he’d been through in some way – but that was it, just a constant little reminder. Other days … other days were hard, were very bad. They set him back, made him turn into a pathetic mess, made him feel as though there was no surviving it, as though there was the physical torture and then the mental and emotional torture, which he had yet to figure out how to best. And it was hard and he said things to the ones he loved that made him feel even worse, but they never left him, never abandoned him, were always there to hold his hand and wrap him in their arms and remind him that he wasn’t alone, that he’d never be alone again. And it was nice and it was them – Thor, Frigga, and Sif – that got him through the tough days, which made him, believe – slowly, but surely – that there was hope for healing.

            A soft knock sounded, pulling Loki from his leisure thoughts, making him open his emerald green eyes and blink. After the soft knock sounded, another knock came, one that was just a bit louder, enough to alert Loki that there was someone at the door, but not enough to completely startle him. He was still dealing, still trying to integrate himself back into life in Asgard, into a new life, because there was no going back to how things used to be, no returning to the person he used to be, because that person was hurt and messed up and cruel and didn’t understand what Loki understood now – that he wasn’t alone, that he had a family that cared for him, no matter how different he was to them. Sighing deeply, Loki slowly stood to his feet as the door opened, staring warily as the AllFather entered the room, his expression – as always – thoughtful and concerned.

            A few moments passed where nothing was said, the two merely staring at each other. Loki long since realised that it was the AllFather’s way of waiting for him to speak, to start the conversation, to get something off of his chest if he needed to, but Loki would never rise to the bait, would not speak first. Throughout his healing, he had discovered a lot of things about himself, had come to terms with many of his insecurities and problems, but never – _never_ – had he been able to forgive Odin. He had never been able to put aside his anger and his bitterness towards the AllFather, not after their past, not after years and years of neglect, not after years and years of always favouring Thor. He’d been lied to all his life, had been pushed aside for Thor and, even though he and Thor had worked out their issues, had talked and discussed and had been able to mostly meet in the middle about certain things, Loki had never been able to put past what the AllFather had done to him. So he would not speak first, would not make the AllFather’s task of getting to know him any easier, because why should he when he had not been interested in doing so before?

            “How are you feeling?” The AllFather finally asked, and Loki snorted softly before sitting back down in his chair next to the window. Their talks were always like this – with neither truly knowing how best to talk to the other, how best to get through to the other without starting a fight, without hurting and angering the other. Loki had little use of them, but Frigga – and Thor – wanted this, wanted them to talk, to try to get past what happened between them. And despite how desperately he wished he didn’t have to suffer through their talks, Loki couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes, couldn’t bear to hurt her. No, there had been enough hurt, enough pain, enough sadness.

            “I am well,” Loki said, shrugging his shoulders, gaze turning down to his boots for he could not stare any longer into that one eye. It was too deep, too revealing, too sincere, and Loki didn’t want to see how truthful and honest the AllFather was being, because he wanted to stay angry, wanted to stay hurt. It was a burden that would feel better once it was lifted from his shoulders, but Loki didn’t want that just yet, because hating him was all he’d ever known. “I’m healing,” He added, chancing a glance up at the AllFather before returning his emerald green eyes back down. He wished for their talk to be over now.

            “Good, good,” Odin replied, nodding his head. He walked a bit into the room, Loki’s eyes tracking his feet as he moved, knowing exactly where he was at all times. He was still getting over what happened to him, still trying to find the normalcy of life in Asgard, but it was still difficult at times, still hard for him to just forget – because he never forgot. When receiving visitors, the soft knocking on the door kept him from jumping, from startling at the sudden sound. It caught his attention, enough to give him a moment to relax before another louder sound came, and the tracking of the footsteps, always keeping an eye on who was with him and making sure that none came up behind him … well, that was just precaution, was just Loki’s mind panicking at the thought of more pain, more suffering, more anguish, and more torment. So he watched as the AllFather walked a bit into the room, stopping only just a few paces from the door. He was clearly uncomfortable – much like Loki was – and probably wanted their conversation to end as much as Loki did, but still, no matter how many times Loki saw the look, he always stayed just a bit longer every single time. “I’m glad that you’re all right, Loki. I worry for you. I’ve always worried for you.”

            Clenching his jaw, Loki said nothing, couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t leave them both screaming and yelling at each other, couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t have them hating each other more than they did. He turned his head away from the AllFather, turned his gaze back out the window, because what could he possibly say to something like that? He didn’t believe his words, didn’t believe them for a second. The AllFather had to know that, too, had to at least sense the sudden wave of hostility that was rolling off of Loki’s entire body for he sighed deeply and moved closer. His gaze snapped back to the AllFather’s when he started moving, his heart starting to pick up speed, not enough to have him panicking, not even to have him cowering back in fear, preparing himself mentally for a blow, but enough of a warning. It was a prickle of fear that swept through him, and the AllFather immediately stopped moving, that reflective eye dimming in his sadness. Another sigh and he was moving back to where he was when he first came into the room, giving Loki space to calm down and realise that there was no danger. But Loki had no time for that. Anger and embarrassment flooded his entire being, making him feel as though he was as pathetic and as childish as _they_ had always said he was. Shaking his head, Loki leaned forward in his seat, a sneer curling his lips upwards. “You cannot blame me for not believing a single word coming from you. After everything that you’ve done to me, do you truly believe that I’d just _let_ this happen, that I’d just let you in? You don’t _care_.”

            “I do care –”

            “No, you don’t! If you cared then none of this would have happened! If you cared then I wouldn’t still be waking up at nights …” Loki started off strong, his voice high and full of such anger and resentment, but he trailed off, despite how much he wished to inflict pain upon the AllFather, to give him just a taste of what Loki felt. But his tone had morphed from bitterness to something almost like a whine, and Loki put an end to it before he could reveal just how vulnerable he felt about the entire situation. He had made milestones from where he used to be to where he was now, but that didn’t take away the fear that he felt or how upset and bitter he still was. He was still trying to find his place, still trying to figure out where he fit in, how he’d go about living. Shaking his head, ridding himself of it all, Loki stood to his feet, keeping one hand firmly pressed on the wall. “I’m done. I cannot do this anymore today.”

            Neither moved – Odin stood exactly where he was, a look of disappointment and sadness taking over his features and Loki had to look away, had to avert his gaze, because he couldn’t see that, couldn’t know that he was the cause of it. He wanted the AllFather to hurt, he wanted that man to know how Loki felt almost his entire life, but at the same time, deep, deep down within him, he wanted to apologise, wanted to beg for forgiveness, because he wanted Odin’s blessing, wanted to know that he had made him proud, just like Thor did. Despite all of what happened, Odin was the only father that Loki had ever known and even though he would like to think that he had no father, Loki knew deep down that the AllFather _was_ and would always _be_ his father. His heart was pounding and his eyes brimmed with tears, but before he could lick his lips and open his mouth, Odin spoke, his voice softer and more careful than Loki had ever heard before. “It’s all right, my son,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He was staring hard at Loki, taking everything in, studying him, realising the turmoil inside of him that was bringing about a maelstrom of emotions that conflicted and contradicted so many others. “I’m not upset with you. I knew that this would take time. I knew that you could not forgive me, that you could not let my past transgressions go. I cannot, either. I have done you wrong, Loki, and you will never know how sorry I am for that. All I ask is that you give me time to mend what I have broken inside of you.”

            Blinking away the tears, turning his head back towards the window, unable to show such weakness in front of the AllFather, all Loki could do was nod his head, was mutter an affirmative. The room was quiet and Odin had not left yet, and Loki was begging and pleading with the Norns that he’d just _go_ , that he’d leave him in his weakness, in his misery, in the sadness and the humiliation that was this talk. Eventually, he did leave, did turn around after several minutes of staring at Loki, and walk from the room. And Loki didn’t move from where he stood, didn’t move for even longer, _needing_ to make sure that he was gone, _needing_ to make sure that he wouldn’t chance walking into him, wouldn’t chance seeing him in the halls. And when he was sure that he was gone, when he was sure that there was no way of walking into him or seeing him, Loki ran from the room. He needed to breathe. He needed to forget, needed light and goodness. He needed _her_.

            And then she was there, standing at the end of the hall, a book in her hand, heading in the opposite direction of Loki, her head down, eyes scanning the back of the book. But she must have sensed him, must have felt eyes on her, must have felt the desperation that was flowing off of him in waves, because she looked up and caught his eye – dark browns connecting to emerald greens – and then she was walking towards him, knowing that there was something wrong, knowing that he needed her, and she was there, _always there_. Loki met her halfway and threw his arms around her, needing her more than he ever thought possible. Her arms wound their way around his neck, pulling him down, and he pressed his face in the crook of her neck and took in her scent – gardenia with a hint of leather – and slowly felt his heart even out, slowly felt his panic and his hurt ebb until it was just him, just Loki. Nothing needed to be said between them. She knew, Sif always knew. Her fingers carded through his hair, her hold on him firm and comforting and warm and safe and Loki felt _better_.

            Eventually, they started walking, Sif’s arm looping between Loki’s, her shoulder pressing against his a constant pressure that he was grateful for. And he took her hand, a swell of emotion filling him when she immediately intertwined their fingers, and he revelled at how perfectly her hand fit in his, as though the Norns created her just for him. And everything was just _better_ , was _right_ , that even though he had a long way to go, he was going to be okay, because he had mother and he had Thor and he had her – _dark brown eyes, Sif, Sif, Sif_ – and it would work out, it would in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has suck with me! This is just the first story to the instalment, though the stories will not be in order. 
> 
> More to come!


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